


You Can't Choose Your Family But You Can Choose Your Friends

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Rated teen for some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8360710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: This was an idea prompt from Maryg so everyone can blame her. I was going to wait until maybe winding down my *Bebe* story but figured what the heck and started it. Let me know if you like this one.Oh and Elenduen found out Labarge's first name for me so I've now changed it to Martin.See notes below.++++





	1. Chapter 1

_Evening, somewhere outside of Larriberau_

His cousin had controlled his life since he was nine years of age. Kidnapping him after slaughtering his parents, burning down his home and destroying the family farm... there was nothing left for him now. Maman and papa gone... livelihood gone... his freedom ground to nothing but dust. But d'Artagnan vowed he would one day break Martin's vicious hold on him soon.

He had tried, many times in the past, to escape only for Martin to hunt him down like a dog and drag him back into his cousin's sordid life each and every time. Now that d'Artagnan had finally reached the age of eighteen years, he knew he was more than able to defend himself against his cousin's harsh treatment. The next opportunity that presented itself, d'Artagnan would break away from this hell.

++++

Martin Labarge was a ruthless giant of a man, committing violent crimes against his fellow Gascons. He was brutal in his conquests, leaving nothing but terror and despair in his wake. Proud of the fact that he was known as a thief, bully and murderer, Martin wore them like badges of honor. Tearing through Lupiac, Toulouse, Bordeaux and many other surrounding towns with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop, Martin enjoyed causing mayhem wherever he struck.

His pillaging made him a comfortable living, a life to which he'd adapted to quite well. Though having a price on his head meant that Martin couldn't stay overly long in one place. This nomadic life never wearied him in fact he relished it. But his men grumbled from time to time, not enjoying having to move constantly to evade capture by the authorities. For they all knew what getting caught meant. There would be no mercy shown to any of them. They would be brought before King Louis and ordered strung up by their necks. That is if they were captured at all something which Martin swore would never happen to them if they all kept their heads.

Despite all the discontent he heard, Martin had his men all under his thumb which was just the way he liked it. Speaking of having someone under his thumb... Martin observed his young cousin, Charles, taking care of their horses and it reminded him that the boy hadn't made any escape attempts the last few years. Rubbing his stubbled chin thoughtfully, his eyes narrowed on the younger man.

There were hidden fires within Charles. Fires that Martin hadn't yet put out. All the beatings the boy had endured at his hands never quenched those flames he could still see burning hot in his cousin's eyes. "Kid, come here!" he barked out, eyes narrowing when his cousin was slow to comply with his order. When Charles stood proudly in front of him, Martin's demeanor dramatically changed as he began to laugh. Knowing the boy probably wondered what the joke was, he extended his right arm to reach around the youngster's shoulder. Tugging him in close, Martin whispered in Charle's ear. "You're not planning on leaving me again are you?"

Taken by complete surprise at the question, d'Artagnan schooled his face to show no emotion. Pulling away from the mockery of friendship Martin was displaying, d'Artagnan backpeddled away from the older man. "I believe I've learned from my past mistakes," he responded icily.

"That remains to be seen,"Martin grinned devilishly. "Are the horses settled for the night, Charles?"

"Oui," with a jerk of his head, d'Artagnan turned away from the man. Then he paused, turned back around and glared at Martin. "How many times do I have to tell you to call me d'Artagnan?"

Chuckling Martin enjoyed egging the kid on. "What? You think by having everyone call you _d'Artagnan_ that your pere's name won't ever be forgotten?"

" _NON!_ " d'Artagnan stood there shaking with rage. "Tis because I'm proud of my name! Proud to have been Alexandre d'Artagnan's son!"

Wiping the cocky smile from his face, Martin frowned with distaste at the boy. "Do you think I care that I killed my uncle?" he spat, noticing Charles clenching his fists as if the youngster could land a solid punch against him. Ha! That would be the day. "Hell! I killed my own parents before I ever came to your farm to do the same." Briefly gazing up at the stars twinkling in the night sky, and then back again at the seething youth, he added, "Think of it this way, _Charles_ ," he sneered in contempt, "Alexandre and his sister are together for eternity now."

"One day," d'Artagnan's chest heaved, wanting so badly to wipe Martin's miserable existence off the face of this Earth, "I'll have revenge for papa, maman, Aunt Isabelle and Uncle Theo."

"Hold that thought, kid," Martin winked at the boy, leaving Charles behind to go layout his bedroll.

++++

_Another campsite also near Larriberau_

Spreading their blankets on the hardened ground, the three men situated themselves around a nice-sized fire blazing in the center of their camp. Ready for bed the inseparables were calling it a night.

"Shame what Labarge did ta Lupiac," Porthos was lying on his back, arms folded underneath his head while staring into what stars he could see through the foliage of surrounding trees that provided them protection.

"Razed the entire town," Aramis murmured quietly, chewing on a blade of grass, while fingering his crucifix that always hung around his neck.

"He will pay for his crimes," nothing could be seen of Athos' features as his chapeau did an excellent job of covering his entire face.

"From your mouth to God's ears," Aramis threw the blade of grass away, tipped his own chapeau over his face, closing his eyes.

++++

_Next day, break of dawn_

A soft whistle rent the air signaling to Porthos and Athos that Aramis had discovered Labarge and his gang of cut-purses.

When Athos and Porthos joined the sharpshooter, Aramis lowered his voice. "Labarge is over there," he pointed to where the large brute stood talking to a few of his men. It looked like they were getting ready to leave.

"Tell me the king sent more than just you three?" a voice whispered.

Gasping in surprise the inseparables whipped around with weapons raised, expecting to be surrounded by Labarge's gang, they were all silently kicking themselves that they got caught with their collective pants down. But they were in for another surprise, when all they encountered was a young boy crouching behind some brush trying not to be seen.

Signaling the unarmed lad to come over which the youngster did positioning himself between Athos and Aramis, the men began wondering what was going on.

With an arch of his brow Athos tilted his head and studied the features of this child. The map of Gascony was clearly written on the boy's face, along with the accent that none of them missed. He pondered how someone with the face of an angel got mixed up with a thug like Labarge. "I assure you that we three are more than enough to take on that piece of trash and his band."

Staring the blue-eyed Musketeer in the face, d'Artagnan wasn't really convinced they could do as this man boasted. "You do know that Martin has ten men working for him?"

"We do now," Aramis smiled, tipping his hat at the lad.

"How did you spot us?" Athos thought they had been quite cautious in their approach of Labarge's camp.

"I was readying the horses when I thought I caught sight of some movement behind the bushes," d'Artagnan answered observing the older man, who he assumed was the leader, arch a brow at the handsome one.

"I was careful," Aramis defended himself against Athos' accusing glare. "The pup's got sharp eyes."

"So I sneaked up behind you and was very much relieved to see your pauldrons," d'Artagnan explained.

"Ya gonna 'elp us, kid?" Porthos felt that if the whelp wasn't yelling at the top of his lungs, to give away their position, that the youngster was here to lend a helping hand.

A flash, of what only Athos could assume was hatred, came and went so fast in the young Gascon's eyes that he nearly missed it. There was a story here and if things went in their favor Athos believed they would discover what it was. For the time being, he felt that this child would be on their side.

"Martin killed my parents and burned down our farm," d'Artagnan shot the three men a dark look full of venom, "I want nothing more than to see justice done."

"I like him," Aramis grinned at his brothers.

"I'm a good judge of character," Porthos slid a glance at Aramis, the latter was shaking his head sadly back at him, "I say we trust the whelp."

"You're a poor judge of character when sober," Aramis threw back earning a mean glare from Porthos.

Listening to the strange exchange between the two men, d'Artagnan began to worry about this lot. Feeling the heavy gaze of the older Musketeer upon him, d'Artagnan turned holding out his hand to him. "I'm d'Artagnan." He got a firm handshake from the one known as Athos, another from Aramis whose eyes were dancing with merriment even though d'Artagnan didn't see what there was to make light of and a hardy slap on the shoulder from the dark-skinned Musketeer known as Porthos. "By the way," d'Artagnan leaned in toward Porthos speaking softly to him, "you are a good judge of character."

Smirking, Porthos turned to stare at Aramis who simply shrugged one shoulder.

"Having commenced with introductions I suggest we now make a plan of action," Athos was quickly taking stock of the pup and seemed to like what he saw. There was a world of grief in d'Artagnan's eyes. Eyes that had seen too much for the child's young years.

"What's ta plan?" Porthos grunted holding up a pistol and musket, one in each hand, and pointing with one of them toward his shiny poignard sticking out of his weapon's belt. "We go in as usual and take care of business."

"What he said," Aramis nodded, readying his own musket and pistols.

"Here," Athos shoved another pistol into d'Artagnan's hands, "take this." Noting a puzzled look on the Gascon's face, Athos grimaced. "I assume you do know what it is for?"

"Of course I do," d'Artagnan snapped. "I was just surprised you're actually trusting me."

"As Porthos already said," Athos' features were devoid of emotion as was his tone of voice, "he's a good judge of character. Tis enough for me."

"Well then," Aramis chuckled low, holding out his hand palm down, " _All for one_..." he waited for the familiar feel of leather clad gloves on top of his own. When Athos and Porthos followed suit, Aramis stared up into the young man's curious gaze. "Go on, d'Artagnan," he urged. When the boy tentatively rested his hand on theirs, Aramis grinned, " _and one for all_."

++++

_Notes:_

In this story Labarge only works for himself not the cardinal.

Larriberau, known as Ger, lies between the mighty River Garonne to the north of the Pyrenees to the South.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have already read chapter 1, where I had Labarge's first name as Victore, Elenduen kindly told me that in the show his name was Martin. I must have forgotten that and my search into it came up with nothing. So I have since changed it to Martin. I didn't want any of my readers to become confused when they saw that Victore was gone and Martin was in. LOL!
> 
> Also see note at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Same day, time and place where we left our boys_

When the Musketeers, plus d'Artagnan, dropped their hands Porthos and Aramis quietly went one direction leaving Athos to steer the Gascon by the arm, leading them both in the opposite one.

_Labarge's camp_

"Where's that kid?" Labarge barked at his men who were readying themselves for departure. When they all looked back at him with puzzled faces he snarled. "Find out where Charles has gone off too this time!"

Needless to say Labarge didn't know that the king had sent his best soldiers to arrest him. Two of whom have now split off with Aramis finding a nice niche for himself to pick off the opposition.

Positioning himself behind some trees, where the cut-purses had their mounts secured, Porthos periodically took some chances sneaking out to untie the horses. He needed to be prepared for Aramis' first shot to ring out so that Porthos could jump out and scare the crap out of the animals making them scatter to the four winds.

Meanwhile Athos kept the boy close. Not that he thought the child would possibly change his mind about helping them. If it was an act then d'Artagnan missed his calling on the stage. Non, it was more to protect the young Gascon from Labarge's retaliation when the murdering scum discovered that the pup had sided with the Musketeers.

When Aramis decided that the time was now his carefully aimed shot hit one of the cut-purses in the shoulder. He smiled noting Porthos charge out from his hiding spot, yelling and flapping his huge arms all over the place, to chase the startled horses away. They stampeded past a stunned Labarge and his men before the gang could even move a muscle.

As one by one Labarge saw members of his band being picked off by some unseen sharpshooter, Labarge was beyond furious. Reaching for his own weapon he found his pistol suddenly shot out of his hand leaving his fingers stinging from the force of it. Turning around he came face to face with a blue-eyed Musketeer who apparently was the one who cleverly took him unawares.

"It'll take more than you, Musketeer," Labarge sneered in the other man's face, "to arrest me!" he boldly announced.

"I do not have to _arrest_ you," Athos' face showed no emotion in front of this giant. "My orders were clear in that I could stop you any way I saw fit."

Wanting to keep his eye on the soldier, Labarge needed to see how many of his men had fallen. A quick glance over his shoulder proved to him that his side was losing badly as bodies of his gang were scattered all over the ground. Some appeared merely injured while others had gone on to meet their maker. Not that he believed in any of that rot. Once you're dead... you're dead as far as Labarge was concerned. What bothered him the most was that there was still no sign of his younger cousin. Where the hell was he?

"You could do us all a favor and resist," Athos tilted his head slightly to one side, his stance firm and pistol trained on Labarge's chest. "I know it would make my morning complete," he drawled, lips threatening to curl upward in a semblance of a smile. The bark of Labarge's coarse laughter was the very last thing Athos expected to hear.

"Like I'm gonna oblige you," Labarge's eyes darted about, looking for a way to escape. What he got next though was what he least expected. Hearing the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked from behind him... Labarge finally discovered the whereabouts of his cousin.

"Non," d'Artagnan whispered in the older man's ear, "you will _oblige_ me."

Whirling around Labarge confronted the youngster. "Grew some balls did ya?" he growled, noting that Charles didn't appear cowed by him any longer. Truth tell, since Charles had turned eighteen, he'd been noticing that the boy's been showing him another side. A side Labarge hadn't appreciated.

In the background Labarge could hear groans of pain coming from the remainder of his men that were still alive. There was nothing he could do for them, it would be up to the mercy of these Musketeers. Speaking of which Labarge now found himself surrounded. Aside from Charles there was the stone faced one whose weapon was still trained on him, a darker skinned man that rivaled even him for size and a smirking one that could have been taken for a dandy if it weren't for his leathers.

"But where are my manners?" Athos mockingly bowed. "I am Athos of the king's Musketeers," he nodded to Porthos who grabbed Labarge's arms pulling them in the back to shackle them together. "You are under arrest for crimes against the people of Gascony and the surrounding areas."

"Which goes ta say," Porthos chuckled while taking great joy in securing Labarge, "crimes against the crown as well." Hearing nothing but snorts from Labarge, Porthos led the man over to where he left Roulette.

"Athos, what about the ones we killed?" Aramis stared over at the area where he and Porthos had piled the bodies.

"Did you pray for their souls?" Athos lifted a brow.

"You need ask?" Aramis huffed.

"You are a hopeless case," Athos smiled sadly at his brother. He left Aramis to his beliefs, even if they weren't ones he himself adhered to. His smile faded when he glanced at the dead cut-purses. "Considering what they have most certainly done while with Labarge," Athos' eyes were hard as flint, "let their corpses rot where they lay."

"We 'ave four left that are wounded," Porthos finished securing the length of shackles to his horse. Labarge will be traveling on foot from hereon out, and Porthos was going to enjoy seeing the man eat dirt the entire way back to Paris.

"Aramis, see to them. We do not need any setbacks," Athos glanced sideways at d'Artagnan who still stood beside him. "Could you lend him a hand?"

Nodding at the older Musketeer, d'Artagnan trailed behind the marksman pausing only when Martin growled his name as he walked past his cousin. "I'm going to enjoy seeing you hang," d'Artagnan hissed.

"D'Artagnan, come." Aramis didn't want the boy to pay any heed to what Labarge may decide to say to the young Gascon.

The entire time d'Artagnan helped Aramis clean and treat the wounded survivors he intercepted odd looks every now and then from the Musketeer. Knowing there was something on Aramis' mind, d'Artagnan inwardly sighed waiting for the questions to come.

"Must have been hard calling a man like Labarge _family_ ," Aramis spared a brief look at the pup.

"He's never been that to me," d'Artagnan handed the other man some clean bandages. "Martin killed his own parents before coming to our farm and doing the same thing to my own."

Finishing the job on one of the cut-purses, Aramis secured the criminal's wrists together. "Yet he kept _you_ alive."

"I was only nine at the time and couldn't fight back very well," d'Artagnan remarked bitterly, his head hanging down making his long brown hair cover half his features. "But I tried. Mon Dieu how I tried!"

Snapping his head up, Aramis' eyes narrowed on the youth. "Are you telling me that garbage has held you against your will all these years?"

"Didn't ya try ta escape?" Porthos had come over to see if Aramis and the whelp were done. He couldn't help but overhear d'Artagnan speaking a little about his past.

Glaring at the open curiosity in Porthos' face, d'Artagnan muttered. "What do you think?"

"You were very young," Athos joined them and could read between the lines of what the lad hadn't divulged. "Labarge managed to catch you each time you ran away."

"I wasn't very good at hiding myself," d'Artagnan admitted to the Musketeer leader.

"Scumbag kept draggin' ya back, eh?" Porthos grunted, shooting Labarge a lethal look. He wanted nothing better than to go over there and re-arrange Labarge's face with his fists.

"But why?" Aramis was confused. Labarge murdered two sets of parents and yet kept this child alive. With the saddest eyes Aramis ever saw, d'Artagnan gave answer to his silent question.

"We're _family_ ," d'Artagnan tucked his hands underneath his armpits, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Labarge is nothin' but a nutter," Porthos growled, "that's what 'e is."

"I lived in hope that one day I'd finally get away from him," d'Artagnan looked at the Musketeers as they intently listened to him. "I turned eighteen last week and knew the time was now or never."

"If you do not hope you will not find what is beyond your hope," Aramis offered, standing with one hand anchored on the young Gascon's shoulder.

"Fine words, Aramis," Athos lifted his hand, "but tis time for us to return to Paris."

"What will happen to me?" d'Artagnan stood rooted to the spot. Not sure if he should go with them or take his chances on the run. It wasn't like he had murdered anyone but he had been forced to steal for Labarge and his cronies.

"Once learning what had befallen you I doubt our captain would turn you over to face the king's justice," Athos tried to ease the younger man's worries.

"Especially afta we tell 'im how ya 'elped us take 'em all down," Porthos leaned over to ruffle d'Artagnan's hair. Seeing the whelp step back in shock at his gesture, Porthos' heart actually hurt for the kid. He should have realized that his simple act of kindness may have been the first d'Artagnan's been shown since Labarge destroyed the boy's life. Wrapping a strong arm around the whelp's shoulder, Porthos brought the youngster in toward him for a bear hug. "See, that wasn't so bad."

Recovering from the warmth Porthos had shown him, d'Artagnan turned away so that these men wouldn't see the sudden tears gathered in his eyes. The very last thing he wanted was for them to judge him as weak.

"Nice as this is," Athos stabbed all of them with a look that was well known to Porthos and Aramis, "let's get this vermin back to the Garrison so that the captain can throw them into the Chatelet."

++++

_Paris_

It was over two weeks by the time Paris came into view. Admitting to himself that he was still scared of what the Musketeer captain would do with him, d'Artagnan tried to calm his nerves which were threatening to overwhelm him as they entered past the Garrison gates.

The journey to get to this point had been fraught with taunts and threats from his cousin Martin. Thinking upon the abuse d'Artagnan had been suffering at Martin's hands, this time his cousin's threats didn't carry the weight they normally would have. He put that down to the fact that they had safely arrived at their destination where Martin and his gang would be turned over to the proper authorities.

Pulling up their horses the inseparables dismounted with d'Artagnan following suit.

Signaling Reyer, Walkelin, Corneul and Leon over Athos ordered them to take Labarge and his men to the Bastille where they would be held until their transfer to the Chatelet.

When that was being accomplished, Aramis went to stand in front of the nervous Gascon. "Our captain's really a pussycat."

It was the very last, and most absurd, thing d'Artagnan was expecting to hear that he couldn't help but smile. Realizing that this was the older Musketeer's way of getting him to relax, d'Artagnan shook off the last of his nerves. Following behind Athos he took the steps that would lead him to the captain of the king's regiment.

++++

_Note:_

The quote: _"If you do not hope you will not find what is beyond your hope"_ is by St. Clement. Known as Clement of Alexandria. He was a Christian theologian.


	3. Chapter 3

_Same day, late morning - Garrison, Captain Treville's office_

Slowly gaining the steps, behind Athos, d'Artagnan reached the balcony. He waited for Porthos and Aramis to join them. About to go in he was stopped by a hand to his chest. Looking at Athos curiously, he waited to hear what the Musketeer had to say.

"Let us three go in and talk to Treville first," Athos noted the young Gascon become nervous again. "We will explain to him how you helped us and the circumstances which landed you in Labarge's company."

"All right," d'Artagnan swallowed hard, his stomach felt all tied up in knots. "You know where to find me," he gave a careless shrug of one shoulder. Still worry gnawed at him watching the Musketeers go through the door.

++++

_Nearly a full half an hour later_

The door open and a hand stuck itself out to wave d'Artagnan inside.

As d'Artagnan hesitantly approached the entrance, his arm was snagged by a dark-skinned hand that literally pulled him bodily inside the office. Stumbling to a halt d'Artagnan glared at Porthos' unforgiving face. When the Musketeer released him, he turned around.

Treville had listened to his men carefully as they explained to him what went down. Understanding that this youngster had watched his family brutally murdered, along with his farm being burned to a crisp, Treville certainly wasn't going to bring up charges against the boy. To top it off Labarge had virtually kidnapped this child. There were so many charges to be brought up against the criminal that Treville was beginning to lose count.

Sitting at his desk Treville studied the young Gascon closely. Studied and studied the boy until a nagging suspicion dawned. "What were your parent's names?"

Not expecting such a question d'Artagnan was momentarily taken aback, then he found his voice. "Alexandre and Francoise."

Slapping his hand so hard on the top of his desk that it shook everything on it, Treville stood up so abruptly that his chair tipped over. "Mon Dieu!" he rushed around his desk to grab the lad by the shoulders. "You're Charles!"

Stunned that this soldier knew his name, and appeared to recognize him, d'Artagnan stuttered out a response. "Oui... oui, sir," The captain's grip didn't lesson one iota. Instead he found himself enveloped in a warm hug. Also the last thing d'Artagnan had expected after stepping inside this officer's domain.

"My boy, my boy," Treville pulled back to take a really good look into Charle's features. Now that he knew who the youth was, Treville could see the resemblance. Though d'Artagnan appeared to have inherited some of Alexandre's features, the lad had Francoise's soft brown eyes and good looks. "My family and yours were longtime neighbors," Treville dropped his hands to his sides. "Alexandre and I were as close as true brothers."

"Ummmm," d'Artagnan licked his lips, "I don't recognize you, sir," he admitted, trying very hard to place the face but failing.

"You were a mere petit when I left for grander pastures, Charles," Treville sighed thinking upon the past and good friends now lost. Had it really been that many years ago? Times does fly it would seem. "I remember when I used to bounce you on my knees," seeing a blush steal up d'Artagnan's face, Treville realized he had embarrassed the lad. Hearing his men's collective laughter, he turned around and glared them into silence.

"My apologies," d'Artagnan dipped his head, "I still don't remember you."

Waving the lad's apologies aside, Treville continued. "What you don't know is that your father and I kept up a regular correspondence. When I hadn't heard from him in awhile I began to worry and wrote to one of his friends that I knew," Treville's voice roughened, remembering when the response came back. "Tis when I found out that they had been killed and you had all but disappeared."

"Sir," Athos stepped forward, "if I may ask you a question?" Getting a nod from his superior, Athos gazed back at him most strangely. "When I had explained about the boy you didn't say anything of this."

"Tis because there are other d'Artagnan's in the area and it was common knowledge that Labarge was known to burn down homes and farms," Treville huffed. "Along with being a murdering batard as well," he rubbed at his chin.

"Charles, I went back to Lupiac and tried to search for you," Treville couldn't believe that the boy was actually here standing in front of him, after all these years. "Before going back to Paris I made sure everyone knew where to reach me if anyone got word where you were."

"Martin never lingered in any one spot for very long," d'Artagnan said. "You would have been hard pressed to get any information of where I was."

"No one told me that Labarge had taken you," Treville's anger grew the more he thought upon it. "Still you're here now and that's what counts," he grinned. "Tis indeed a miracle."

The inseparables silently stood by, taking in the long awaited reunion between the two men.

"So now that you're here will you consider staying with us?" Treville prayed that the lad would agree. He owed it to Alexandre and Francoise to do right by the boy.

"I... I don't know what to say," d'Artagnan hadn't expected the invitation. Matter of fact he hadn't expected any of this. "Are you asking me to become a Musketeer?"

"I would be honored if you would," Treville glanced over his shoulder at his men. All of them were nodding their heads back at him apparently in full agreement. "I believe those three over there would like to take you under their wings." Holding up his hand to gain d'Artagnan's attention Treville needed to warn the youngster in advance of a few things. "Though I hope you avoid picking up any of their peculiarities."

Twisting his head around d'Artagnan blinked his eyes wide at the Musketeers he had fought alongside with. Then looking back at the captain d'Artagnan was still a tad puzzled over the officer's remark.

"My lieutenant Athos drinks to access," Treville held back saying anything to Porthos who snorted at his comment. "Porthos over there gambles and loves getting into fights way too much for my liking," he then noted Aramis rolling his eyes. "Then there's the Garrison's own personal Lothario... Aramis."

"Yeah," Porthos barked out, his dark eyes full of amusement. "Don't want ta ever find yourself danglin' from rooftops or bein' challenged to duels over a woman's honor."

Smiling, d'Artagnan noted that none of the soldiers seemed offended at their captain's words. "If you do not mind having someone of my age becoming a recruit then my sword is yours."

"You will be King Louis' youngest," Treville boasted with pride. "Even when you were outside waiting and I didn't know who you were I had already made the decision to ask you," Treville jerked his head toward his men. "They vouched for your skills and I trust their judgment."

Ducking his head shyly, d'Artagnan peeked out at them from behind his long bangs. Receiving a hearty slap on his back from Captain Treville he then found himself surrounded by the three Musketeers.

"D'Artagnan, just so you know," Treville grinned fondly, "those three are my best soldiers and are known around Paris as _the inseparables_."

"Some might say we live in each other's pockets," Aramis smirked. "But not _all_ the time."

"Mis needs ta 'ave 'is _time_ with the dollies," Porthos' dark eyes danced, Athos simply rolled his.

"I hope I'm a good fit for you," d'Artagnan himself wasn't so sure how this would all play out but he was willing to give it a good try.

"Captain," Athos interrupted, needing to get back to the business at hand, "how soon will you transfer Labarge over to the Chatelet?"

"After I apprise Louis that we have him in our custody," Treville privately thought that the criminal's apprehension was long overdue. "Then I will give the order for the transfer." Noting the tenseness of the boy's shoulders he realized something else weighed heavily on the young Gascon's mind. "D'Artagnan, what is it?"

"Ummmm, where do I stay now?" Hearing the captain swearing softly, d'Artagnan didn't know how to react to that.

"Apologies, son," Treville shook his head, more mad at himself than anything else. "I'll make arrangements for your stay at the Garrison barracks."

"Kid could stay with one of us," Porthos suggested knowing that his brothers would agree.

"I have room for one more," Aramis kindly offered.

"As do I," Athos' solemn gaze rested on the pup.

"There you go then, d'Artagnan" Treville was pleased with his men. "You now have your choice of where you can now call home."

"Merci," d'Artagnan bit his lip. "But whomever takes me in may discover that it doesn't work out."

"Kid," Porthos winked at the whelp, "I know more about Athos and Aramis than I care ta admit and I still don't enjoy bunkin' with 'em at times."

"I say," Aramis huffed, swatting his brother with his chapeau, "what's the pup going to think hearing things like that?"

"Tis the truth," Athos said with a twinkle in his blue eyes. "But do not let this put you off staying with one of us."

"I don't know any of you that well to make a decision," d'Artagnan really didn't know who to pick.

"Let's do this on a trial basis then," Athos wisely suggested.

"Trial basis?" d'Artagnan wasn't sure what that meant exactly.

"You'll take turns staying with each of us," Athos elaborated, noting the child's confusion.

"Should be interestin'," Porthos commented slyly. "Right, whelp?"

"Uh, guess so," d'Artagnan grinned sheepishly.

"This is just what the regiment needed," Treville crowed. "New blood to invigorate it."

"Are ya sayin' we're old, sir?" Porthos grunted.

Covering his mouth, hiding his smile, Aramis' eyes danced merrily. Same could be said of Athos'.

"Er," Treville turned red in the face, "non."

"I believe what our captain meant to say was that d'Artagnan will liven things up around here," Athos caught the lad's surprised expression and threw the pup a quick wink. "Most likely our dull routine around here will be a thing of the past."

Tugging at his mustache, Treville frowned upon hearing that. "I wouldn't say things are exactly _dull_." Then he sighed in exasperation when his men burst out laughing, while poor Charles stood in the middle of the room no doubt wondering if all of them were addled in the head.

++++

_Bastille_

Pacing his cell, like the caged animal he was, Martin growled at guards that dared get to close to the bars. "Charles, wait until I get my hands around your throat." His thoughts, always dark at best, lingered on the things he would do to make his young cousin suffer. For there wasn't a prison made that could hold him. "Better watch your back, kid."

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See note at bottom.
> 
> ++++

_Same day, late afternoon – The Garrison_

A heavy arm landed across d’Artagnan’s slim shoulders. Turning his head slightly he encountered Porthos’ grinning face.

“So, whelp, what da ya think of our Garrison now that we’ve given ya the grand tour?” The smug look he threw Athos and Aramis fell away when d’Artagnan didn’t respond right away. Scratching his head, Porthos figured maybe to the kid the Garrison wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

“Silence is supposed to be golden,” Athos drawled, his steady gaze on the young man never wavered. “Perhaps he is simply overwhelmed.”

“Or grossly _underwhelmed_ ,” Aramis slapped his chapeau on his head, gave it a light pat and began whistling a non-sensical tune.

Really not knowing how to answer Porthos’ innocent question, d’Artagnan summed it up in two words. “Tis nice.” Seeing the larger Musketeer’s mouth fall open, either in shock or to argue the point, he quickly added, “As far as Garrisons go.”

Stopping in front of the stables Porthos planted himself in front of the whelp, folded his arms and glared at the kid. “Been in many before this one?”

Running his hand down the back of his neck, d’Artagnan looked anywhere but at the swarthy-skinned man. It would seem that Porthos was not pleased with his answer.

“Oh cut him some slack,” Aramis squeezed the back of the lad’s neck. “D’Artagnan here’s had rather a rough road to get to this point, mon ami,” he waved his hand to encompass their surroundings. “This place won’t hold much meaning for our young Gascon until he’s lived here as long as we have.”

Relaxing his stance Porthos nodded his acceptance of what his brother had said. “Yeah you’re right, Mis.”

With a roguish grin splitting his face, Aramis winked at the boy. "I don't know about any of you but I've worked up a thirst."

"Might as well take the kid ta our favorite tavern." Porthos gave the whelp a light shove on d'Artagnan's back. "Just keep your eyes peeled on Mis."

So it was that the inseparables plus their newest recruit found their way past the Garrison gates, heading toward the city.

++++

_Later on - The Wren_

The watering hole the inseparables took d’Artagnan to wasn’t any different from the many Martin and his men frequented in the past. Except for one exception. This tavern had Musketeers coming and going constantly. If a bandit decided to try his luck here the canaille would be lucky to escape unscathed.

Distracted from his thoughts, d’Artagnan watched in amusement while Aramis flirted with every pretty barmaid that passed the marksman’s way. Over in a corner Porthos laughed outrageously while beating his other brothers at cards.

Sipping at his lager, d’Artagnan felt a body slump against his shoulder. Sighing he placed his drink on the table, scraped his chair back and stood up. Setting Athos to rights, before the older man fell to the floor, he gazed helplessly at Aramis. This was the first time he had seen Athos deeply in his cups and was at a loss as to what he should do. The captain hadn’t exaggerated on any of the inseparable’s traits it would seem.

Observing the care d’Artagnan took with his brother, Aramis gaze continued to rest on the pair. “Did you decide which one of us you’d like to stay with first?”

“I was going to pick Athos,” d’Artagnan’s eyes slid toward the lieutenant again, who now was draped over the table snoring loudly.

“Get used to that, pup,” Aramis snorted into his glass of wine. “Tis almost a nightly occurrence whenever we’re not on duty or away on a mission.” Placing his drink down he studied the Gascon’s features, noting the grimace that crossed the boy’s face. “Either Porthos or myself are usually charged with bringing Athos back to his apartments when he gets like this,” he chuckled as d’Artagnan’s pained expression worsened. “Now we can add you to the mix.”

“Judging by how tonight’s turning out,” d’Artagnan looked over to where Porthos was deep into his card game, “you and I will be Athos’ caretakers for the evening,” he smiled shyly. Noting another barmaid trying to gain Aramis’ attention, d’Artagnan suddenly realized that it could be all up to him after all. “Er, that is, if you don’t have a prior engagement with one of the ladies here.”

“My, good boy,” Aramis was mildly amused at this child’s manners. Considering the barmaids _ladies_ when he knew for a fact what the rooms upstairs here were used for. And Aramis should know since he spent some considerable time up there himself. Being an admirer of the fairer sex, Aramis never denied himself the pleasures of the flesh whenever they were offered. And they were offered frequently, despite Aramis' strong feelings for the church. But he had put his calling for the priesthood on hold. It was not yet his time to become a man of the cloth.

Considering d’Artagnan had Labarge as a prime example of what a degenerate actually was, tis a miracle the lad still kept his innocence in tack. Though the youngster would probably balk at having his new friends think of him in that manner. “Tis a price we pay for brotherhood,” knowing his remark puzzled the pup, Aramis continued. “We are duty bound to take care of one another come hell or high water," he grinned. “Besides, you’re a more charming companion than Porthos would be,” Aramis glanced over at the table where his brother was roaring his fury over a losing hand. “Especially if he loses tonight.”

“Does Porthos lose very often?” d’Artagnan’s eyes flitted over the room again, eventually landing on the largest of the inseparables once more.

“How should I answer that, mmmmm,” Aramis hummed, seeing confusion in the Gascon’s dark eyes. “Porthos has a unique way of winning,” he raised his glass to d’Artagnan. “Whenever he comes back home empty handed Porthos could be your worst enemy in that moment,” he sipped more of his wine. “ _Losing_ isn’t normally in his repertoire.”

Thinking upon it, d’artagnan realized what Aramis hinted at. “In other words Porthos _cheats_.”

Raising a brow, Aramis pretended surprise. “You didn’t hear that from me.” Seeing d'Artagnan acknowledge his comment with a dip of the young Gascon's head, Aramis felt he better offer a warning as well. “Also when you say something like that, pup, do keep it to yourself for your own wellbeing. I mean if others were to get wind of it there would be plenty of trouble for Porthos.”

“My lips are sealed,” d’Artagnan smirked. Then, raising a finger, he tilted his head to the side. “Why do you and the others always refer to me as _pup,_ ” he huffed. “Bad enough when Porthos calls me _whelp_.”

“Because you’re still wet behind the ears and not fully grown yet.” Standing up Aramis stretched his limbs. “Time I think to remove Athos to his apartments.”

Both Aramis and d’Artagnan stood on either side of Athos who was still passed out cold.

“Why does he drink so much?’ D’Artagnan stared down upon the man he only had known for a short time but had begun to admire.

“From the little Athos divulged to Porthos and myself I gleaned something quite dark happened about five years ago when he joined the regiment,” Aramis pushed back the chair his brother sat on. “It involved a woman he loved and lost.” Unconscious, as the man was, he was like dead weight when Aramis struggled to lift him up.

“Must have been one hell of a woman,” d’Artagnan whispered. Gazing down upon the lieutenant, he missed seeing Aramis staring back at him with a thoughtful expression. The lad appeared to be sensitive to Athos’ plight. Perhaps this young man would be good for his older friend.

“Come on, mon frere,” Aramis tried to coax Athos to stand on his own two feet as he placed an arm around his swaying brother’s waist. While doing so, he heard his friend mumbling incoherently. Glancing at the boy, Aramis was curious to know if d’Artagnan understood what Athos had said.

“Don’t look at me,” d’Artagnan shook his head. He too had an arm around Athos' waist. When the man stumbled into him, he thought they’d both drop to the ground in an ungainly heap. “I didn’t catch a word of it.”

"I doubt even Athos knows what he said." With one last look over at Porthos, Aramis helped the boy with their drunken burden as they left the tavern.

++++

_Athos’ apartments_

Somehow the two of them managed to get Athos home, without running into trouble… or Red Guards. Working in tandem, d’Artagnan and Aramis helped Athos out of his clothes and into a clean nightshirt. The inebriated man didn’t even put up a fuss, while he was tucked under the covers like a child.

Noting d’Artagnan hovering over Athos like a young guardian angel, Aramis snagged the boy by the arm pulling him through the bedroom door. “Mission accomplished.” Considering he and his brothers were all but strangers to the lad, Aramis noted how d'Artagnan appeared reluctant to leave Athos alone.

“Aramis,” d’Artagnan closed the door behind him as they both left the apartment, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Always a dangerous occupation,” Aramis lightly teased.

“My papa used to say that very same thing.” D’Artagnan’s eyes grew sad for a moment, thinking of the past when his parents had been both vibrantly alive.

“He was a wise man.”

“Very,” d’Artagnan swiftly agreed. ‘I don’t know if I’m really Musketeer material.” He knew, by the other man’s silence, that Aramis patiently waited for him to get everything off his chest. “Perhaps I should go back to what I know best… _farming_.”

“You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream,” Aramis kindly offered the troubled youth.

“That was your pep talk?” d’Artagnan huffed, beginning to become slightly annoyed with the man.

"I believe it suffices," Aramis twirled his mustache between his fingers.

“All right," d'Artagnan chuckled, "for now no more second thoughts on becoming a Musketeer but I do have another problem.”

“I wondered when you were going to realize it,” Aramis covered his mouth with a gloved hand trying not to laugh when the pup rolled his eyes.

“It isn’t seemly for me to move in with Athos when he’s not capable of telling me what’s what." D’Artagnan rubbed at his arms, that were becoming cold, due to the chill of the evening.

"Porthos was still at his game when we left The Wren." Aramis knew by process of elimination that the youngster would end up with him as his roommate.

"You will tell me if I cramp your style won't you?" Knowing of Aramis' amorous pursuits, d'Artagnan wasn't sure if it would work out between them.

"Hardly." Aramis removed a white handkerchief from his doublet, sniffing at the fragrance left there from his last affair. "I never invite my paramours inside my apartments." Noting surprise register in d'Artagnan's face, he simply left the rest unsaid. Instead he steered the boy toward his home.

"Think a week with each of you is too long for me to make a decision?" d'Artagnan chewed on his lower lip.

"Tis a most likely plan when making an important decision such as this, d'Artagnan." Coming to the street where he lived Aramis tapped the lad on the arm, pointing out his apartments.

++++

_A week later - Garrison courtyard_

Joining d'Artagnan at one of the benches where the young Gascon sat observing Athos sparring with Claude, Treville sat down. "I've been so busy lately that I haven't had time to stop and ask how your stay with Aramis went."

"Good," d'Artagnan admitted. Noting a disbelieving look cross the captain's features, his eyes slid away from the officer. "Quiet as well."

Mulling over the boy's words, Treville noted d'Artagnan fidgeting where he sat. " _Quiet_ is hardly the word I've ever heard used to describe our marksman."

"Honestly," d'Artagnan risked looking directly at Treville, hoping that the captain didn't see how uncomfortable he was under the man's scrutiny. "When we're not on duty Aramis is gone quite a bit in the evenings. On the nights he stays in Aramis reads his poetry or studies theological papers."

"Perhaps Athos next then, eh?" Treville had heard from Aramis why d'Artagnan didn't spend his first week with his lieutenant. He completely understood the boy's decision. Personally Treville felt that this young man would be a good, steady influence for Athos. That is if his lieutenant could get his head out of his ass long enough to see that the youngster needed someone to look up too. Lord only knew d'Artagnan didn't have that with Labarge.

"Tis what I plan on, sir." Seeing Athos waving him over, d'Artagnan stood up. "Forgive me, Captain, but it looks like poor Claude has had enough and tis now my turn."

"Show Athos how a real Gascon fights, son." Treville grinned at the sparkle of devilment he spotted in the lad's eyes. He was going to enjoy watching them together. But it ended up not to be when Matthew came over with a message for him. Reading the missive, Treville's brows drew together. Frowning, he glanced over at where d'Artagnan was giving Athos a worthy challenge. Debating whether or not to interrupt the boy's training, to impart what was in his letter, Treville got to his feet. "D'Artagnan! Come here!"

Their dueling blades slashing in the air, both men immediately stopped their sparring upon hearing the captain call out.

"Sir?" D'Artagnan put his sword down on the bench. Noting Captain Treville appeared uneasy before him, he had a gut feeling he wouldn't like what the officer had to say.

Holding the note in his hand Treville crumpled it up. "Labarge wants to talk to you."

"Like hell he will!" Athos stepped protectively in front of d'Artagnan, as if there was a threat standing before him.

"Tis up to him, Athos," Treville snapped. Knowing his lieutenant's feelings on the matter, he agreed with the man completely.

"I have nothing more to say to him." His heart speeding up with anxiety, d'Artagnan had no desire to face his cousin ever again.

"Matters settled then," Athos gruffly tacked on. "Come, child, let us pick up where we left off."

Tossing the crumpled piece of paper over his shoulder, Treville watched his lieutenant march off with the Gascon.

++++

_About an hour later - Chatelet_

Receiving word from one of the guards that his cousin wasn't available to speak with him, Martin struck out at the cell bars in anger. "Kid, you have no idea how far my reach is," he growled low. Then he yelled out to the guard that was walking away to come back. Charles was going to discover what happens when you turn your back on family.

++++

_Note:_

The quote: _“You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream”_ is by C.S. Lewis.  
He was a British novelist, poet, academic, medievalist, literary critic, essayist, lay theologian, broadcaster, lecturer, and Christian apologist.


	5. Chapter 5

_Same day, late evening - The Broken Sword Tavern_

He had been watching the younger man for most of the evening and could tell that the whelp's mind wasn't on the company he was presently keeping. Finally Porthos scraped back his chair to stand up. Placing a heavy hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder he gave it a hardy shake. "'Ow 'bout joinin' me ta go teach 'em," he pointed over to a boisterous card game going on in the corner, "'ow ta play the game right?" Porthos snickered at the looks Athos and Aramis gave him. "Maybe we'll both line our pockets this night."

If an eyebrow could speak d'Artagnan's would be telling Porthos that he picked on the wrong person. His one brow rose so high that it completely disappeared underneath his bangs, when raising it in disbelief. "I hate to say this but I've hardly ever had anything to do with card games." Seeing Porthos shoot him a look that told d'Artagnan that the large Musketeer thought he was putting him on, a snippet of his old life was revealed. "I didn't have much spare time when I was much younger. Helping papa with the farm took up most of it. What little I had was taken up with papa teaching me the sword."

"What about when ya was with that batard Labarge? Didn't ya play cards ta kill time?" Hearing sounds of a fellow brother raking in the pot, Porthos was anxious to get over there before the game up and ended.

"I kept to myself as much as possible." D'Artagnan grimaced. "Or as much as Martin would let me get away with."

Not taking no for an answer, Porthos neatly plucked the youth from his seat. "Then, whelp, observe a master at work." Glancing over his shoulder, as he marched the Gascon away, Porthos caught twin looks of amusement from Aramis and Athos. Sending them a wicked grin, Porthos then slapped a hand on the kid's back steering d'Artagnan toward the game when he felt the youngster try to veer off in another direction.

"For once I note the stamp of approval on your face, Athos." Aramis sat back in his chair, nursing his drink, studying his brother.

"Ever since Treville presented that note from Labarge to the lad d'Artagnan's been brooding." Athos pushed his half full glass of wine to one side, suddenly losing the taste for it.

"He wants no part of him. The Gascon finally has a chance to start a new life." Aramis turned his head, following the sounds of Porthos' laughter. "Me thinks our brother is feeling lucky tonight."

"Tis to be hoped it will occupy the child's mind instead of dwelling on why d'Artagnan refused to speak to Labarge." Athos raised a hand for the barmaid to come over. Perhaps he'd try some brandy next.

"Is that what you believe?" Aramis tilted his head. "That the pup's feeling guilty."

"I believe," Athos dipped his head in thanks as the barmaid delivered his brandy, "'tis time to get drunk."

++++

Since it was his turn to host the pup, Athos waited for the card game to break up. Aramis had retired over an hour ago, telling Athos that he had to rise early for there was a new batch of recruits badly in need of his expertise.

Somehow that didn't ring quite true to Athos' ears. His friend had been known to stay up late into the eve and still manage to do his duty the next morn. Throwing back his brandy, feeling the burn of it slide down his throat, Athos figured that part of what Aramis told him was true. The marksman did go to bed... just not his own.

When d'Artagnan and Porthos made their approach back to the table, both men were surprised at the lack of Aramis.

"Mis turn in already?" Porthos picked up Athos' half filled glass of wine and drank it down in one gulp. Seeing d'Artagnan watching him, Porthos chuckled. "Card playin's thirsty work, kid."

"He turned in," Athos smirked. " _Where_ is anyone's guess."

A sly smile registered on Porthos' dark face. "Ain't that just like, Mis?" He nudged the whelp in the side earning a bewildered look from d'Artagnan. "Ya spent a week with 'im." Porthos could tell, from the boy's puzzled expression, that d'Artagnan didn't understand where Porthos was going with this. "'E mention any new loves in his life?"

"Non, Aramis was gone most nights." It didn't escape d'Artagnan's notice at the looks exchanged between the other two men. "He never mentioned where he was going. It really wasn't my place to question him."

"Enough talk about Aramis' and his paramours," said Athos, more curious at the outcome of the card game than the love life of their beloved marksman. "Porthos, did you clean house or not?"

"I won some and lost some," Porthos grunted.

"Then he won some more," d'Artagnan grinned, proud at the showmanship of the older Musketeer. "It was pure genius the way Porthos worked the game."

"You mean to say that Porthos actually played by the rules?" Athos knew he wasn't yet so drunk that he could have misheard. If his brother had cheated, Athos doubted young d'Artagnan would have been so pleased. Coming off a life filled with a cousin bent on thievery, destruction and murder, Athos knew that the pup wouldn't have stayed to observe the game if that were the case. Perhaps once d'Artagnan's gotten used to their ways that would be a different story but that day was not today.

"You wound me, mon frere." Porthos placed his winnings on the table. Listening to Athos whistle, he grinned at the youngster. Sliding a handful of coins toward the kid, Porthos frowned when d'Artagnan shook his head.

"I cannot accept." D'Artagnan pushed back the coins. "I did nothing to earn them."

"Kid, win lady fortune decides to smile down on us," Porthos huffed, "we share amongst ourselves." Shoving the coins back toward the whelp he was pleased when d'Artagnan reluctantly accepted his portion. When it came to Athos' turn, Porthos wasn't in the least surprised when the older man refused as well. So Porthos put the rest of his winnings inside a hidden pocket within his doublet.

"Why does Athos get to refuse and I can't?" Observing a play of emotions that he didn't understand cross the Musketeer's faces, d'Artagnan's chin stubbornly jutted out.

"I do not need Porthos' wealth." Standing up, swaying slightly, Athos added, "Do not worry, pup, I am not so much into my cups that I cannot walk a straight line."

"Ya should be honored, kid." Porthos squeezed the back of d'Artagnan's neck fondly. "'E usually don't care whose company's 'e's keepin' and gets royally soused."

Pocketing the coins into a small pouch attached to his weapon's belt, d'Artagnan stood between the two Musketeers. "Merci, Porthos."

"The more ya hang around us you'll catch on ta the way we do things around 'ere." Porthos grabbed his chapeau that was hanging off the chair.

"Which usually means that Porthos and Aramis place bets on nearly everything." Athos rolled his eyes. "Nothing is sacred."

Not bothering to follow up on that comment, d'Artagnan stepped outside with them. The evening air carried with it a light breeze that felt good on his overheated skin. For the tavern had begun to feel stuffy. Still pondering on why Athos would have no need of the money was a question d'Artagnan would table for a later date. Perhaps once he felt more comfortable in the older Musketeer's company, he may bring it up.

Parting ways, Porthos headed for his place while Athos and d'Artagnan went in the other direction.

++++

_Athos' apartments_

Upon their arrival, Athos almost took a tumble stepping inside. It was just a lucky thing d'Artagnan managed to grab the man's arm in time to keep Athos upright. "Let me help you with your clothes," offered d'Artagnan, already removing the Musketeer's doublet. Athos' chapeau had long fallen to the floor and d'Artagnan would have to pick it up before either of them crushed it under their feet.

"I'm not that drunk." Scowling at the pup Athos stood still while the young Gascon divested him of most of his uniform. When the lad reached to help him with Athos' pants, he grabbed hold of the child's wrists in one hand. "I am able to handle the rest on my own."

A blush staining his cheeks, d'Artagnan gave a jerky nod, thinking it best to change the subject quickly before his actions were misconstrued. "Ummmm, where do I sleep?"

"Apologies." Athos pointed to the extra bedroom next to his own. When the boy walked toward it, Athos had a question for the lad. "Do you play chess?"

Pausing halfway into his room, d'Artagnan turned around. The question, coming out of the blue the way it had, startled him. "Uh... oui."

"Like to read?" Athos pointed over to his bookshelves. They lined one side of the wall, full to the brim with literature of all types.

"Oui." A start of a small smile began to emerge on d'Artagnan's youthful face.

"At least between those two things and our mutual love of blade work you and I should get on rather well. Do you not think so?" Bestowing a kind look on the Gascon, Athos waited for his answer.

Ducking his head, d'Artagnan's bangs covered his eyes. "I believe the answer would be... oui." Leaning against the door frame he lifted his hand. "Bonne nuit, Athos."

"Sweet dreams, child." Waiting for the door to close behind the pup, Athos muttered to himself as he too went to retire. "Lord knows you deserve them."

++++

_Next day, mid morning - Garrison stables_

He had so been looking forward to this morning, knowing that Athos would be testing d'Artagnan's ability and what he had learned so far about handling a sword. But Captain Treville needed to have an urgent missive delivered to a nobleman in Artois. It was only a two days journey away though for d'Artagnan that meant he would be biding his time for at least four of those days until Athos' return. Of course there were other seasoned Musketeers he could tutor under, in regards to sword work. Still none of them had the reputation of being the finest blade master in all of France.

That's how he now found himself grooming Zad, along with Belle and Roulette. Oh there would be time well spent learning marksmanship from Aramis and hand to hand combat with Porthos. Perhaps he could twist Captain Treville's arm somewhat to see if the officer wouldn't mind giving him some pointers until Athos came back. After all, from what d'Artagnan heard, the captain was nearly as good with a sword as Athos. Lost in his musings d'Artagnan never saw, nor heard, the stranger that entered the stables until the feel of cold steel against his neck made d'Artagnan's blood chill. Fetid breath ghosted over his skin, when the stranger spoke.

"Your cousin sends 'is regards with a reminder for ya ta get 'im outta that rotten shit-hole of a chatelet." He pressed the tip of his poignard against the tender flesh of the boy's skin until he drew blood. Bringing the blade's point up to his tongue he licked the blood from it. Pressing it back against the kid's neck once again he slid it up and down teasing the flesh. "There was somethin' else I was ta tell ya. Now what was it?" He chuckled throatily. "Oh yeah that was it." Removing the poignard from the youngster's neck he roughly whispered into d'Artagnan's ear. "Labarge wanted me ta give ya a reminder of just who your _family_ really is." Swiftly he plunged the blade into the boy's side.

Waiting to feel the slice of the blade cut into his neck shock filled d'Artagnan when pain blossomed in his right side instead. Bonelessly he collapsed onto the ground. Fading in and out of consciousness, d'Artagnan clutched at his blood soaked shirt. His last thoughts were of Athos and wondered if the Musketeer would mourn him.

++++

_Courtyard_

"Where's d'Artagnan?" For the past half hour Treville had been searching for the young man to no avail.

"Stables." Aramis placed his weapons on the bench. "Porthos and I were otherwise occupied so we sent him to groom our horses."

"Ya want me ta get the kid for ya?" Porthos' voice boomed from where he stood gloating over besting Rene. The latter was still on the ground, stunned from the pounding he had received.

"If you would, Porthos." Treville walked over to where Aramis was diligently cleaning his musket and pistols.

"Trouble?" Aramis quirked a brow.

"Something's going on with Labarge." Treville slammed his hand down on top of the bench. "I just left the chatelet and the man is far to smug for my liking."

"Perhaps he thinks he can escape the noose." Aramis was about to further add his opinions on the matter, until he caught sight of Porthos. "Mon Dieu!" The cleaning rag Aramis had been using floated to the ground forgotten.

Aramis' exclamation caught Treville by surprise. Following the marksman's gaze, his legs nearly gave out underneath him.

Carrying the limp, bloody boy in his arms, Porthos was in anguish. The whelp's head dangled lifelessly over his arm. The kid's long strands of brown hair blew gently in the wind, as Porthos' long strides took him closer to the infirmary.

Other Musketeers rushed over to him to see what aid they could offer. "Gotta get the kid ta the doc!" His brothers cleared a path for him, making it easier for Porthos to maneuver his way through the courtyard.

++++

_Infirmary_

"What the deuce happened to him?" Captain Treville could only helplessly stand by, observing Doctor Devereux try to staunch the flow of blood seeping out of the young Gascon's side.

"I found the kid bleedin' like a stuck pig in the stable." There was murder in Porthos' dark eyes and in his heart. It only got stronger watching the doctor work on the whelp. "I'm gonna 'urt someone real bad for this," he all but growled.

Aiding the doctor, Aramis helped Devereaux clean and wrap the injury. Tenderly he brushed d'Artagnan's bangs away from the lad's sweaty face.

"How bad is the wound?" Treville's eyes never left the Gascon's pale features.

"The perpetrator was sending a message I expect." Devereaux went to wash the blood from his hands. "The blade never reached any vital organs." Drying his hands on a towel he stared at the captain. "At first I worried that it had penetrated the boy's kidney or liver but then discovered it missed them by a wide margin."

"It looked far worse than it was." Aramis swiped at a trickle of sweat that rolled down his forehead. "The batard that did this wanted to make d'Artagnan bleed." He held back his own thoughts on what would have happened if Porthos hadn't discovered the Gascon in time. But it seemed that the captain agreed with their doctor.

'Merde!" He ran a hand through what was left of his hair. "D'Artagnan's attacker knew that someone would find him before he bled out." Treville smacked a fist into his other hand. Spinning around he faced his men but specifically he focused on the marksman. "Remember what I said about Labarge?"

"You believe he arranged this." Aramis' lips tightened together. "As do I."

"Pretty 'ard ta prove with Labarge locked up 'n' all." Porthos ran a hand through his dark curls.

"Wait until Athos comes back." Aramis grimaced, knowing there would be hell to pay when his brother returned. It would take a blind man not to see how close d'Artagnan was becoming to Athos. This might tip his friend right over the edge. Not a precipice Aramis ever would care to find himself on, lest any of his brothers. "And there's something else..." he trailed off, Aramis' eyes avoiding that of Treville's and his brother.

"Spit it out man!" Treville barked. As if d'Artagnan nearly dying from blood loss wasn't enough. There was something in Aramis' eyes that he didn't like.

"While the good doctor and I were working on the boy there were clear signs of past physical abuse," Aramis' fingers tangled in his hair. "Lash marks for the most part. Some are quite old and some," he paused, "not so much."

"Labarge's work no doubt," Treville huffed. "First we make sure d'Artagnan gets well." Feeling and looking haggard he could have used a stiff drink at this juncture. "Then we'll concentrate on learning how this happened right under our noses."


	6. Chapter 6

_A little over four days later – the Garrison, Captain Treville’s office_

Reporting straight to Captain Treville, after handing off Roger to the stable boy, Athos was curious as to why the captain appeared out of sorts. Of course that led to all manners of speculation. So Athos figured if it was something he needed to be aware of that the captain would duly inform him.

“I gather there weren’t any problems along the way?” Treville noted that his lieutenant appeared unruffled from his journey. The same could not be said of himself nor Porthos or Aramis for that fact.

How to broach the subject of d’Artagnan had Treville in a quandary. Either way he considered bringing the matter up, he stood a good chance of Athos going off half-cocked. Twas a good thing Labarge was safely installed at the Chatelet. It was one less thing for Treville to worry upon. He didn’t need to see Athos being hung from the gallows for ending that miscreant’s life.

“The scenery was enjoyable,” Athos remarked. For in truth he had found it a pleasant, if short, journey. If all his missions were like this one, Doctor Devereaux would find himself without anything to do. “All in all a thoroughly boring assignment.” Under the impression Treville hadn’t been listening to him he tactfully cleared his throat. “Sir?”

Looking up into Athos’, somewhat perplexed, face it hit Treville that his man had been trying to gain his attention.

“Is anything wrong, Captain?” Drawing closer to the desk, Athos noted Treville’s obvious agitation. It was most disturbing to see the officer act this way. “Has Richelieu gone too far again?”

“Mon Dieu!” Treville pushed back his chair. Standing up to lean over his desk, palms flat on the top, his head hung down for a few seconds before looking his lieutenant straight in the eye. “If only it were that simple,” he closed his eyes briefly.

Whatever had Treville worried it had to be of a most serious nature. Dread began to fill Athos as his whirling thoughts centered on his two brothers. “Aramis?… Porthos?…” he trailed off seeing the captain shaking his head back and forth forming the word _no_ but never uttering it out loud.

" _D'Artagnan_?" The last name left Treville's lips in a mere whisper.

"Ah!" It was like a shot to the heart hearing the boy's name being spoken so softly. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Athos feared hearing what had befallen his young protégé.

"It took place four days ago." Sitting on the edge of his desk Treville noted how pale Athos had become. He knew d'Artagnan had somehow gotten under his lieutenant's protective armor and Treville was glad of that. But it was times like now, when he had to inform one of his men that another was injured, that he disliked. But it went with the territory. "Shortly after you left, Athos."

"Is he alive?" Athos bit off, fearing he'd hear the worst.

"Still recovering in the infirmary under Aramis' watchful eyes." Waving Athos to take a chair, Treville waited impatiently for the younger man to sit down so he could finish. "The lad was stabbed in his right side."

Twas bad enough to his way of thinking. Even though Athos hadn't known the pup all that long, he had begun treating the Gascon as a true petite frere. Not having those type of feelings since the death of Thomas, he struggled against his emotions. "Any other injuries to speak of?" Forcing to keep his voice steady, Athos braced himself.

"The loss of blood had made d'Artagnan quite weak," Treville noted Athos blanch at his words. "Between Doctor Devereaux, Aramis and Serge they're collectively making sure the lad eats the proper foods to build his blood back up."

"Who did it?" Do you know?" Athos ground out between clenched teeth. Hand tightening on the hilt of his rapier, his eyes hardened to flint.

"For the first two days I only had my suspicions." Tapping his fingertips on the desk, Treville stared at a point over Athos' shoulder. "A slight fever had set in and the boy was too sick to question about it."

"And now?"

"It would seem that Labarge had hired some thug to deliver a message to d'Artagnan." Treville slapped his right palm down so hard on the desk that it stung. "He wants the lad to get him out of the Chatelet."

"How did Labarge expect d'Artagnan to get him released if the boy was hurt?" Wanting nothing more than to march right over to the Chatelet and end Labarge's sorry existence, Athos bit the inside of his lip until it bled.

"Whomever Labarge hired was a tad overzealous in his work. The poignard used missed anything vital but penetrated deep enough that Aramis and Devereaux worried for awhile." Admitting to himself that he had been terribly concerned over the youngster's welfare himself, Treville began to wonder when he had begun to turn soft.

"I'll murder the batard!" Athos all but growled. Swiftly turning around he stormed from the office completely ignoring Treville's orders to stop and come back.

++++

_Shortly at the Chaelet_

Laying in his cot, the sound of keys jangling in the lock of his cell had Labarge lazily turning his head to see an unexpected visitor. "Well, well, well," he chuckled deeply, sitting up. "What brings you here to my humble _temporary_ home?"

"This, you whoreson!" He flew so fast toward his target that Labarge didn't have time to defend himself. His fists continuously pounded into the piece of filth that masqueraded as a human being. "Do not look for help!" he snarled. "You are not the only one with the ways and means of bribing some weak-minded fool!"

Kicking Labarge in the sides, until he heard ribs give way, Athos picked the bruised, battered and bleeding man up from the ground. Pulling out his main gauche he prepared himself for the killing blow that would rid d'Artagnan of the pup's last remaining relative. A loss that Athos knew would not trouble the child in the least.

When Athos went to slit the other man's throat he suddenly found that his right arm refused to obey him. Feeling a grip so tight that it threatened to cut off his circulation, Athos stared in disbelief into the dark face of his brother. "Porthos! Leave off! I need to finish this!"

Shaking some sense into his friend, Porthos got right into his comrade's face. "Think, Athos! What good will this do?" he shouted. "It won't help d'Artagnan and it will certainly see ya hung!" Snatching the main gauche from Athos' hand, Porthos tucked it in his own weapon's belt. "Are ya with me now, mon frere?"

Breathing heavily, Athos was bereft of words. Denied killing Labarge, he was in no mood to thank Porthos for what Athos considered would have been his good deed for the entire year. Shoving Porthos away, he brushed past him and rushed out the cell door.

Glowering down at the mess that was Labarge he spat at the scumbag. Pleased that it landed on the man's face, Porthos laughed. Making sure the cell door was securely locked behind him, he rattled it for good measure.

++++

_Outside the Chatelet_

Standing in front of Athos, like an immovable wall, Porthos grabbed his brother by the doublet. "For someone that harps on and on about _head over heart_ ," he snorted, "ya ain't done such a shit fine job of that yourself."

"Remove your hands... _NOW_ " Athos seethed inside that he had been stopped in his pursuit of justice for the boy.

"If'n ya promise me ta come see the whelp." Porthos lightly shook his brother. It was either that or knock Athos senseless and drag him over to the infirmary. "Then yeah I will."

"Treville send you after me?"

"Who else?" Porthos had to admit when the captain took him away from training practice, sending him after Athos, he wasn't sure about stopping his friend from murdering the slimeball. "But ya need ta see the kid."

The grim tone of his brother finally broke through. His blood still ran hot, and for two cents Athos felt like ignoring Porthos to go back and finish what he had started.

"Everytime someone comes through those infirmary doors I see hope die out in the whelp's eyes when the kid realizes it ain't ya."

Hearing how anxious d'Artagnan was to see him, Athos tried to regain control of his out of control emotions. "Then I will not disappoint the child today."

Following behind his friend, Porthos feared how Athos would react upon learning of the whelp's previous abuse at the hands of the kid's cousin.

++++

_Infirmary_

"Now, d'Artagnan, you're not well enough to get out of that bed yet." Aramis tried to cajole the younger man. Ruffling the lad's hair, he held back a chuckle or two at the pout forming on the Gascon's face. "Do you not remember your fever?"

"Of course I do!" Scowling at the older man, d'Artagnan was annoyed. Did Aramis think him a two year old?

"I for one do not care to see it return because you were getting antsy to leave this fine establishment," Aramis smirked. Never having had a younger brother before, he wondered if this was what one put up with. If that were the case, Aramis was fortunate to have missed out on that privilege. Stubborn Gascon.

"Is Athos back yet?" Not meaning for his words to come out like a childish whine, d'Artagnan's face flushed with heat. Knowing that's exactly what it had sounded like to his own ears, embarrassment filled him.

Sighing Aramis paced the room, wishing for the umpteenth time that Athos would stride through those doors and set the pup's mind at ease. Deciding not to wear out his boots on the floor any longer, Aramis made himself comfortable on the edge of d'Artagnan's bed. "Once Doctor Devereaux releases you," Aramis tapped the lad lightly on the chest with a finger, "you'll have to mind that injury."

"Meaning nothing strenuous at all until I'm fully healed." Repeating what the doctor had told him the other day, d'Artagnan turned his head away from Aramis' sharp gaze. "I know." Closing his eyes he hoped the other man would get the hint that d'Artagnan wanted to be alone.

"I thought perhaps some news I have to impart may make you feel better, pup." Noting how the youngster opened his eyes again to look at him uncertainly, Aramis exchanged a nod of mutual respect with Devereaux who was tending to a wounded Musketeer in the next bed.

"Go on," d'Artagnan waved his hand lazily, letting it drop back down onto his chest.

"Treville's made sure the men guarding Labarge were replaced with Musketeers until your cousin stands trial for his crimes."

"So I'm safe from him paying someone else to come after me," d'Artagnan plucked at his blankets. "At least for the moment, eh?" Noting the slight smile that crossed Aramis' face, he realized he'd have to accept that as an answer.

Wanting to bring up another touchy subject, Aramis twirled his mustache between his fingers before voicing anything further. When d'Artagnan began to stare at him strangely, Aramis decided to just pose his question. "Your cousin whipped you regularly, lad?"

Grimacing, d'Artagnan slid lower under the covers. He should have seen this coming a mile away. Both Doctor Devereaux and Aramis would have had to been blind to miss seeing the numerous lash marks covering a goodly portion of his back, with some even on his chest. "Whenever I tried to escape." Hoping that would satisfy the marksman and Aramis would let it rest, d'Artagnan was doomed to disappointment. Noting the familiar spark of curiosity that would always light up Aramis' eyes, when the older man thought there was a good story to be had, d'Artagnan groaned inwardly.

"Then it was often judging by what I saw." Aramis frowned, thinking about the more recent ones he had seen. "And not so very long ago either." Wanting to press for more he noted the pup roll his eyes.

"Like a dog with a bone," d'Artagnan muttered under his breath noting Aramis' twinkling eyes. You couldn't stay mad at him for long when Aramis gave you that look. Filling in the blanks for him he said, "I gave Martin some lip and he didn't like what he heard."

Before Aramis could respond, they were interrupted by the entrance of his two brothers. Both men appeared uneasy with each other and Aramis knew there was a story there as well. "Athos." Getting up from the bed he crossed over to embrace his older brother. "Tis good to see you." Aramis gave the other man a thorough once over. "Your leathers appear to be in the same sad state as when you left," he grinned, hearing d'Artagnan's low snickers from behind.

"Of course," Athos rolled his eyes. "I would have it no other way." Walking over to the pup's bedside Athos could see the moisture filling the young Gascon's dark eyes. Taking the spot Aramis had just vacated Athos' fingertips lightly brushed through the boy's lank hair. "Labarge will never hurt you again, d'Artagnan. I swear this." When the child leaned into his touch, Athos bent forward until their foreheads rested against each other.

"Porthos," Aramis whispered. "I do not think we are needed for the moment."

Observing his older brother with the whelp, Porthos silently agreed. At least until Athos got a good look at the kid's back.


	7. Chapter 7

_One month later - Garrison_

"Merde!" Feeling a stitch in his left side, d'Artagnan leaned against one of the wooden posts that circled their training yard.

"Do the words _nice and easy_ mean anything in that thick, Gascon head of yours?" Aramis admonished. "Tis barely been a month since you were stabbed." That memory alone was enough to give Aramis nightmares. Remembering Porthos carrying the limp body of the younger man in his arms and then the mad dash to the infirmary afterwards. "My express words to you this morning were that I'd allow you to start practicing again only if you did not overtax yourself."

"Give the whelp a break, Mis." While Athos was occupied in the captain's office, going over reports, Porthos had wanted to lend d'Artagnan some support. Seemed like the kid needed it. "It's natural for 'im ta push 'imself since bein' outta commission for awhile." Normally it would have been Athos sparring with the pup but Aramis had volunteered to replace him when Captain Treville had need of their older brother.

Turning to face his friend, Aramis felt frustration building up. "My thanks, _Doctor Porthos_ ," he mockingly bowed. When d'Artagnan started laughing, he whirled on the youngster. "Think tis funny, my boy?"

Wiping the grin from his face, still holding his aching side, d'Artagnan simply shook his head no.

"Do you feel like continuing?" Observing how stiffly the lad carried himself, Aramis was about to send the pup back to the infirmary so he could check the Gascon's side again.

"I'm fine." Looking Aramis straight in the eye, d'Artagnan raised his right sword arm. "En garde!"

Removing his chapeau Aramis threw it toward Porthos' lounging form. When his brother deftly snatched it out of the air, he smiled ruefully. "If you had let that hit the dirt, mon frere, I would have made you buy drinks tonight at The Wren."

Laughing, Porthos winked at the whelp who was doing his best to keep a straight face. "Get on with it before the kid's arm stiffins' up in that position." While the two blades clashed, Porthos felt something bump his shoulder. Turning his head slightly he saw it was only Athos. "Whelp's givin' Mis fits."

"Our brother's tough enough to put up with the child." Observing that Aramis' wasn't showcasing his usual flair for the dramatic, Athos realized the marksman was taking it easy on the young Gascon. Uncertain if that was the way he would have handled this, Athos reserved judgment for later. Not more than a few minutes later found him wincing in sympathy when d'Artagnan's sword literally flew out of the pup's hand.

"I believe tis enough for the moment, d'Artagnan." Crossing over to where the despondent boy stood, Aramis casually threw his arm around the lad's shoulder. 'Not bad considering how long it's been since you last held a sword."

" _Not bad!_ " d'Artagnan repeated as if the Musketeer had gone mad. "My rapier just went sailing through the air!"

Giving the youngster a look that clearly said - _don't argue with the senior Musketeer in charge_ , Aramis gently patted d'Artagnan's cheek.

"I'm fine!" He insisted stubbornly while picking his sword up from the dirt. Taking up his position again, d'Artagnan flexed his arm to loosen it up. Waiting for Aramis to engage him, he blew some long strands of hair from his eyes.

"Whelp!" Calling out to the kid, Porthos crooked his finger at the boy. "Why don't cha' come with me and we'll see if ya can get your dagger ta hit the mark?" The look the pup just sent him could have melted grease off from one of Serge's cast iron skillets. "It'll put less strain on your body." Placing his hand on d'Artagnan's back he ushered the whelp away from the training area. "There's always time ta try your luck with blades later."

"But I feel _fine_!" Mulishly digging in his heels d'Artagnan stuck to that mantra, thinking sooner rather than later one of the inseparables would believe him.

"Yeah... right," Porthos snorted. "See whose gonna pay for it later tanight when ya can't sleep cause everythin's hurtin' like a bitch." Those expressive eyes on the kid flared open wider at his words. "Been there myself way too many times ta count." Stopping in front of the targets that were lined up, Porthos handed a dagger to the pup. "Go on... make me proud."

Sidling up behind Porthos, Athos and Aramis observed the Gascon hit every target. Not all of them were bullseyes of course, but those that didn't hit dead center came very close to the mark.

Pleased with what he had accomplished thus far, d'Artagnan turned a smug face on the darker-skinned Musketeer. "What's next?"

"I believe lunch is," interrupted Aramis.

Puzzled, d'Artagnan glanced at Porthos. "Are we not doing any training in hand-to-hand today?"

Shocked that the whelp would even suggest it, Porthos jerked his head in Aramis' direction. "Better check with 'im, kid."

Rounding on the other man, d'Artagnan was clearly upset. "Aramis?"

"You are not going to stand there and lie to my face that your side didn't pain you earlier when we crossed blades?" Aramis dared the pup to tell an untruth when he had seen it for himself, despite the times the lad told him he was _fine_.

"I don't believe this!" Throwing his sword onto the ground, d'Artagnan was about to stalk off when Athos snagged his arm.

"That is no way to treat your weapon." His words were spoken softly, carrying a wealth of meaning behind them, as Athos stared into his protégé's dark eyes. Knowing the pup didn't understand why they were treating him with kid gloves, he took pity on d'Artagnan. Picking the sword up Athos handed it back to the child. "Go wash up and we'll all eat together at the canteen." Receiving only a curt nod in agreement, Athos noted a storm brewing as the Gascon stalked off.

"Kid's ready ta explode," Porthos grunted. "Guess I coulda got in a couple of throws and left it at that."

"And risk re-injuring d'Artagnan's side!" Pacing back and forth, Aramis took deep breaths trying to calm his emotions. None of them wanted to see the lad hurt again like he had been. Oh Aramis knew the unlikelihood of d'Artagnan staying injury free, especially in a soldier's life, was nigh onto impossible. Still if he could prolong it, Aramis would.

"I'm still wishing Porthos hadn't stopped me from murdering that batard in the Chatelet when I had the chance," Athos growled. As if the sight of the injured Gascon wasn't bad enough, when he had returned from his mission, noting the stripes on the child's back set his emotions churning wildly. He had wanted to go straight back to the Chatelet and kill Labarge without hesitation. It took the combined efforts of his brothers, and even the good doctor, to restrain him. Even d'Artagnan, who had witnessed his emotions unraveling first hand, tried to calm Athos down.

Closing his eyes Athos visualized the brutality that Labarge had visited upon the child, as if he had been truly there. All he could see was red... literally. Imagining the bloody welts opening up on the Gascon's smooth flesh to pour and soak into the ground, Athos' fists clenched. Dieu! He really wanted to wring Labarge's neck, the more he dwelled on the matter. The pup had done nothing to deserve that type of treatment except to stand up to Labarge's cruel reign.

"I'm jealous ya know." Nudging Athos in the side Porthos cocked his head, staring at him. He knew what the other man had been thinking so a change of subject seemed appropriate. "Whelp and ya got along so well roomin' tagether that the kid never took 'is turn with me."

"Our youngest would have bored you in no time, mon ami." Athos smiled to himself thinking of the nights where he and d'Artagnan enjoyed a good game of chess. Topping the evening off with rousing debates on battle strategies. The young pup had a mind like a sponge, soaking everything up he read. And d'Artagnan wasn't above giving Athos his opinion on some tactic or other that he would have done differently. All in all it made Athos' usual tedium a thing of the past.

"Think of all those nasty habits our lad would have been exposed to if d'Artagnan had lived with Porthos." Dancing out of the way from the punch Porthos aimed at him, Aramis chuckled.

"Kid's gotta right ta learn 'ow ta cheat every now and then." Giving as good as he got, Porthos laid into Aramis. "Then it was a good thing the whelp didn't choose ta stay with ya, Monsieur Fancy Pants." Eyes filled with mirth Porthos glanced sideways at Athos who was just beginning to crack a slight smile. "Think of all the mindless hours of poetry ya devour gettin' stuffed in that poor boy's 'ead."

"What's wrong with poetry?" Aramis snapped, not liking how this conversation was going.

"Everythin'!" Porthos howled in amusement.

When d'Artagnan came back he had to wonder why Aramis resembled a thundercloud ready to burst open while Porthos appeared to be highly amused. Leaning toward Athos he asked, "Aramis appears to be upset." Getting only a low grunt in response, d'Artagnan tried again. "Why is Aramis mad?" This time he got a light shrug of one shoulder which still didn't answer his question. "Since you are of a mind not to tell me then I'm ready to eat."

++++

_Chatelet_

His recovery was a slow and painful one, as Labarge still suffered from his injuries sustained from his fight with the Musketeer Athos. Ribs still twinging when he moved a certain way, Labarge cursed the soldier responsible. With nothing to do but think in a place like this, it didn't take a genius to figure out that somehow this Athos had become quite close to his younger cousin. If the kid meant that much to the lieutenant then Labarge knew a great way to hurt the other man. Of course he had to get out of here first.

Before Musketeers took over standing watch, Labarge had managed to pay off another Chatelet guard to pass a message along. Knowing that his captors thought they had caught all of his gang, Labarge snickered. The sound echoed in his dimly lit cell. All he had to do was bide his time and soon he would escape. Then Athos would be the one to pay in a most painful manner... by taking Charles back.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to add this here.  
> I want to wish all my readers and writing pals on Archive the very merriest Christmas and a wonderful, blessed New Year!  
> Warm hugs from me to all of you!
> 
> ++++

_Next Day – Garrison courtyard_

“Seems ta me the king’s takin’ an awful long time ta bring Labarge up on charges.” Observing d’Artagnan and Athos sparring he was curious as to Aramis’ views, having not heard a thing about it from his brother’s lips.

“You know how Louis can be,” Aramis hummed. “Everything is done at his pleasure whether we like it or not.” When Porthos grunted something unintelligible at him, Aramis covered his mouth with a hand stifling his amusement at his friend’s colorful language.

“Gents,” Treville greeted, walking over to stand beside his men enjoying the show Athos and d’Artagnan were treating them too.

“Captain,” both Aramis and Porthos acknowledged in accord.

“I see young d’Artagnan is much improved from yesterday.” Observing a particular move the boy made when d'Artagnan unexpectedly lunged toward Athos making his lieutenant nearly stumble and fall, Treville was impressed. “He appears more than capable of keeping up with your brother.”

“He does at that.” Considering the wound the lad had sustained, Aramis was satisfied that there had been no lasting damage. Seeing the proof before him made his heart feel lighter.

“Yeah, d’Art’s doin’ great,” Porthos added with a sly wink at the captain.

Knowing the usual reason behind Porthos’ action, Treville wondered what sort of bet the larger man had going on with Aramis.

When Athos danced out of the way of d’Artagnan’s blade, he was able to pull a dirty trick on the Gascon. One he usually reserved for Porthos to teach the pup. Without missing a beat, Athos grabbed a handful of dirt from the ground and threw it toward the youngster’s unprotected face. He almost hated to do that but, sooner or later, the child had to learn that not everyone played by the rules. Matter of fact some, like himself, Aramis and Porthos, made up their own rules along the way.

“’Eh now!” Porthos yelled out in protest.

With dirt in his eyes d’Artagnan naturally couldn’t see much of anything, less alone his sneaky opponent. So when Athos stuck his leg out to trip him there was only one place for d’Artagnan to go and that was … _down_.

When the whelp hit the ground hard, Porthos’ glower hit new levels as it settled on Athos’ smug features. Feeling Aramis nudging him in the side, he glanced at the marksman knowing what he’d see. Sure enough, his friend’s eager fingers were wriggling in Porthos’ grim face. Digging into his doublet he reluctantly parted with several coins to place them in Aramis’ waiting palm.

“Not the way you thought it would go down?” Treville whispered in the disappointed man’s ear.

“Ya could say that, sir.” Watching the kid still sitting on the ground, Porthos strode over to him. “Whelp, need a hand up?”

“I can’t even see your _hand_ ,” d’Artagnan spat in disgust. Rubbing the remaining dirt from his gritty eyes, he glared up into amused blue ones. “Low blow, Athos. Very low even for you.”

“Tis the same treatment you would have received if Porthos were the one standing here instead of myself, d’Artagnan.” Knowing others of the regiment had their eyes on the youngster’s training, Athos swept the area with a cool look making all heads turn away and back to minding their own business.

“Expect the unexpected.” Aramis sidled up to them, tipping his hat. “Tis the Musketeer's motto.”

Taking the hand Porthos offered, d’Artagnan gained his feet. Dusting himself off the look he gave the marksman was sour indeed. “Thought our motto was _All for one and one for all?_ ”

“Ah,” Aramis chuckled. “That too, mon ami.” Jingling the winnings in his hands Aramis pocketed them inside his doublet.

Noting the shiny coins disappearing from view, d’Artagnan’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Seeing the slightly guilty expressions crossing Porthos and Aramis both, he became angry. “You placed a bet on the outcome?” He already felt badly with his dismal performance. Discovering what his new friends had done on top of that didn't sit well with him. Feeling a friendly arm around his shoulders, d'Artagnan found himself staring into Captain Treville's compassionate expression.

"Remember tis all in good fun, lad." He did sympathize with d'Artagnan, understanding what the younger man felt. Especially when Treville had gone through it himself when at that age training under his own mentor. Catching a wry look his lieutenant graced Aramis and Porthos with, Treville admitted to being amused by it. Gently shaking the Gascon's shoulders, he spoke low. "Betting's a way of life for those two. Don't let it upset you," he laughed lightly. "Besides they don't know any better."

"I'm beginning to see that," d'Artagnan gave a disgruntled sigh.

"Anyway I've come with what I hope is good news for you, d'Artagnan." Seeing the younger man gaze at him curiously, Treville prayed that soon all of this would be over for the boy. "King Louis has finally set Labarge's trial for the day after tomorrow."

"About damn time!" Seeing all the heads swivel to stare at him Porthos placed hands on his hips, his stance one of defiance. "Ya know it's true."

"When I had first asked His Majesty if we could hasten up Labarge's sentence the king was most adamant upon the subject," Treville's lips twisted. "He wanted Labarge to suffer as much as humanly possible during his stay in the Chatelet."

"I doubt it bothered Martin overmuch," d'Artagnan remarked with a light shrug of one shoulder. "From what I've gathered the Chatelet is full of his kind of people."

"Speakin' about the Chatelet, guess the kid didn't get wind of what Athos did ta that piece of scum," Porthos muttered to Aramis. The latter simply nodded his head, not offering an opinion.

"Once your cousin is sentenced to hang for his crimes," placing his hands on both of the pup's shoulders Athos gave them a firm squeeze, "that part of your life will be finally over."

"I don't know if I want to be there when they do hang Martin." Suddenly overcome with emotion, d'Artagnan looked away from his friends and the captain.

"Understandable, son." And Treville did grasp the reason the boy felt that way. Despite Labarge killing the lad's parents, the man was still family to d'Artagnan. He didn't blame the youngster for having conflicted feelings.

"All right," Athos broke in seeing that his protégé was still rubbing at his eyes, "I believe our pup needs to wash all that dirt out."

"If I ever want to see again," d'Artagnan snapped, glaring once more at his mentor or the spot where he thought Athos stood. Right now everything was still fuzzy. Turning around he marched toward the barracks.

"Did the whelp appear mad ta any of ya?"

"Looked more like a pout to me," Aramis laughed.

"Better watch out, Athos." Arching one eyebrow high, Treville sent his lieutenant a pointed look. "Next time it could be you on your ass with grit in your eyes."

"I look forward to that day." About to follow d'Artagnan, to make sure the pup was all right, Athos was stopped when Etienne ran up to him. The other man needed his advice badly, concerning an incident between two fellow Musketeers.

Which was unfortunate for if Athos had trailed after the Gascon he might have been able to prevent what happened next.

++++

Coming out of the barracks d'Artagnan was happy he could see properly again. He'll have to ask Porthos to teach him more of those dirty tricks of his. He could see the advantage of using street tactics when d'Artagnan couldn't before. Now he understood why Porthos kept preaching to him to not fight like a gentleman. Though it left him wondering what his papa would have thought on it. Still d'Artagnan couldn't wait for the moment when he turned the tables on Athos. Boy was his mentor in for a big surprise.

Thoughts dwelling upon turning the tide against his mentor, d'Artagnan headed back to the courtyard. Walking past the armory he turned a corner and straight into the hell d'Artagnan thought he had escaped from.

++++

_Courtyard_

Having gotten tired of waiting for the kid, Porthos started on target practice with Aramis. When over a half an hour had passed, both men began to be concerned.

"Unless there was a waiting line to wash up, which I doubt," Aramis stared off into the distance, "d'Artagnan should have been back by now."

"D'Artagnan's still not here?" Joining his brothers Athos' brows drew together. "This isn't like him."

"Somethin's wrong I can feel it." Placing his musket on top of the bench, Porthos was about to see what was keeping the whelp. Suddenly sounds of chaos erupted around them, momentarily freezing Porthos where he stood. 

"Don't tell me Serge started another kitchen fire," Aramis quipped. Seeing other Musketeers rushing past them, Aramis grabbed Paul by the arm. "What has happened?"

"The Chatelet!" Paul was out of breath and it took him a moment to give Aramis the details. "Labarge has escaped!" Noting the stunned expressions on the inseparables, he realized they didn't know.

"What?" Athos shook the young soldier's arm. "There is more you have not imparted to us. I can see it in your face."

"There were more men in Labarge's gang than any of us thought," Paul said. "When he broke out there must have been at least ten more with him," he swallowed hard, not wanting to add more fuel to the fire. But Paul realized he had to give his brothers the unpleasant news.

"Spit it out, man!" Porthos' gut clenched tightly. This was beyond bad. It was a damn disaster and it wasn't over yet!

"Labarge took d'Artagnan."

++++

_Outside of Paris_

Holding the unconscious body of his young cousin against his chest, Labarge put as much distance between himself and Paris as he could. Luck had been with him when the man Labarge had originally hired to deliver a message to Charles also managed to make contact with other members of his gang. The men had been waiting word from Labarge this past month, not knowing that he had been arrested and thrown into the Chatelet.

Revenge tasted sweet on his tongue and it would become even more delicious when Labarge made the Musketeer Athos suffer for what he had done to him while in prison. "Oh, Charles, you are going to be so sorry you ever threw your lot in with the likes of them. I'll make sure of it," he chuckled. Raising a hand high, Labarge signaled to his gang. Pointing to a fork in the road, he led them to their old hideout.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See note below.
> 
> ++++

_Same day, late afternoon - Captain Treville's office_

"Do whatever you have too, Athos, but bring d'Artagnan back home to us." Treville would have gone with them in a heartbeat if he could have, but duty demanded he stay behind and tend to the king's business.

Fastening his weapon's belt tighter, Athos tried to hide his trembling fingers from Treville's sharp eyes. He feared greatly for d'Artagnan's safety. What form of retribution would Labarge visit upon the boy, for not only defying the criminal, but for the terrible beating Athos gave the man while languishing in the Chatelet?

"Needless to say Louis' been informed and is beside himself with righteous anger," Treville muttered, having been with His Majesty nearly the entire afternoon since Labarge's breakout and subsequent kidnapping of d'Artagnan. "I've been tasked with finding out how that man escaped the confines of his prison."

"And also how Labarge managed to take our young Gascon right from under our very noses." Slapping his chapeau on his head Athos gave a curt nod to the captain, departing without a backward glance.

++++

Waiting at the bottom of the steps were Aramis and Porthos, both already armed and mounted, with Roger eagerly awaiting his master.

"Captin' comin' along?" Looking up toward the balcony, Porthos caught sight of Treville's worried face staring back down at them.

"Non." Placing his foot in the stirrup, Athos mounted Roger. "His Majesty wants Treville to find out how Labarge escaped."

"I'd like a piece of the rat that 'elped the likes o' 'im myself," spat Porthos.

"I too would like nothing more than to vent my anger in like manner, mon frere." Dreading what they may find, when he and his brothers manage to catch up to the rogue band, Aramis prayed for d'Artagnan's welfare.

Noting they were well armed and ready for the journey ahead, Athos lead them through the courtyard. Other Musketeers they passed called out to them to get the batard and rescue d'Artagnan. Having made a promise to himself, Athos vowed that he would not return without the boy. Glancing at his brother's set faces, he knew they felt exactly the same.

++++

_Over two days later - Picardy_

If Athos is as good a Musketeer as he seems to think he is, Labarge knew it wouldn't take the lieutenant very long to discover his gang's whereabouts. This is why he deliberately chose this particular hideout, only two and a half days ride out of Paris.

Wanting to face Athos alone, Labarge had laid a trap for the other two Musketeers. This way neither Aramis or Porthos could interfere. He relished the chance to have his fun tormenting the great Musketeer, especially after Athos got a good look at what was left of Labarge's young cousin.

His men had strung up Charles between two sturdy trees. Arms stretched out to the sides, wrists encased in heavy coiled rope, they were tied on each end to thick protruding branches. The boy looked like the sacrifice he was meant to be. There was very little humanity left in Labarge so it wasn't a hardship to carry out his plans against the youngster. Charles never did fit in and never would. Best to cut his losses now.

++++

Head hanging listlessly, d'Artagnan moaned softly from the pain that consumed him. Losing count of the number of times Martin's men had beaten him to a pulp, he knew something felt broken within his body. Ribs most certainly but his gut felt on fire. Blood dripped down his face from a multitude of cuts. One eye was swollen completely shut, while d'Artagnan could barely see out of the other.

Realizing though that Martin had only just begun punishing him for turning against his cousin, d'Artagnan knew that this could be his very last day on Earth. Wishing he could see his friends one more time, especially his mentor, d'Artagnan felt he wasn't going to get out of this alive.

Walking around to face the lad's backside, Martin tested the strength of the whip he wielded. Lashing out at one of the trees the brat was secured too, he felt powerful. Grinning when chunks of bark flew in all directions, Labarge stepped close to his cousin. "Your back's next, Charles," he cackled in the younger man's ear.

Snapping his head up at the sound he heard, d'Artagnan came out of the fog he was in. Feeling Martin's harsh breath on the back of his neck was bad enough but at his cousin's words despair filled him. Mon Dieu! He'd been in this situation one too many times before. His back was very familiar with the instrument Martin cherished. Knowing that nothing less than his death would satisfy Martin's lust for vengeance, d'Artagnan made his peace with the All Mighty.

Thoughts somewhat muddled from his earlier beatings, d'Artagnan felt that if he were to die this day then perhaps it wouldn't be so very bad. If it meant that he could be reunited with his parents once again, then he'd face his fate gladly. Having been a fool in the first place to believe that he could change his life around, d'Artagnan only wished for a quick death.

Waiting for the first crack of the whip, d'Artagnan braced himself. When it came, he held back his screams. Martin really did mean for him to suffer, as each lash struck harder than the previous one. Feeling his life's blood flowing down his back, d'Artagnan grew weaker. It seemed to go on forever with no let up.

He doubted there wasn't an inch of skin the whip hadn't touched. Head lolling to the side, d'Artagnan limply hung from the ropes. Peering through his one eye, he noted blood pooling on the ground around him. When the next lash bit into his tender flesh, d'Artagnan was so weakened now that he couldn't help the cries that escaped his lips. Tears beaded his face like drops of rain but d'Artagnan had become oblivious to it all as he finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

What d'Artagnan didn't know was that his brothers were very close. If he had, he would have warned them to stay away. Knowing how Martin operated, there would definitely be a trap in the works just waiting to ensnare the inseparables.

++++

"Luck's not left us," Porthos grunted. "If'n we hadn't run inta that farmer we'd a never known the gang rode through 'ere."

"If it was Labarge." Normally Aramis was the optimist of the group. Today he didn't feel that way.

"It's him," Porthos insisted. "I can feel it."

"Quiet, both of you," ordered Athos. "According to that farmer's directions we should nearly be on top of them."

Ears perked, Aramis' eagle eyes cast around the area. He didn't note anything out of place but the silence was deafening. Birds weren't twittering in the air and there were no animals in the immediate vicinity either. Indeed Porthos was correct. They were very close to their objective.

When a man's screams rent the air, all the inseparables froze in their saddles. Mounts snorting and stamping their hooves, the men got them immediately back under control. When more blood curdling shouts were released, they knew without a shadow of the doubt it was from their lost pup.

"Stay here!" Athos barked out the command. His blue eyes blazed, demanding from each of his brothers to be obeyed or risk his own wrath.

Not liking it one bit, Porthos and Aramid did as ordered. They would split up and take the necessary positions to cover their leader.

++++

Stepping into the middle of the camp, boldly as you pleased, Athos' sharp gaze zeroed in on their youngest member. Noting the poor condition his protégé appeared in, his lips thinned into a tight line. " _LABARGE!_ Step out from whatever rock you've crawled under and fight me like a man and not the coward I know you to be!"

Throwing his bloodied whip to the ground, Labarge joined the Musketeer. "Is that anyway to win friends and influence people, Athos?" he sneered, mockingly bowing before the soldier.

Brandishing his sword in the air, Athos stood his ground. " _Prepare to die!_ "

"That the best you got?" Labarge's coarse laughter joined that of his men.

"I'll show you my _best_ once you shut up!" Seething, Athos tried to calm himself down. Remembering what he had been trying to drum into the young Gascon's stubborn head, Athos repeated the words to himself. _Head over heart._.. _head over heart_... _head over heart_.

Motioning for his men to fan out, Labarge knew Aramis and Porthos were out there somewhere. He hoped the two Musketeers would enjoy the traps that were set up for their benefit. Pulling out his own blade, Labarge smirked. "Let's get this over with shall we?"

"My pleasure I assure you." With a last lingering glance at the boy, Athos was determined that Labarge would soon breathe his last.

++++

Note: I believe next chapter will have some Athos whumpage for Hsg.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is going to be winding up pretty soon.  
> Good timing as I had another reader just today ask me about doing a story that revolved around a statement I had a character make in one of my other stories.  
> It'll be awhile before I tackle that one though.  
> Enjoy this chapter.
> 
> ++++

_Same day... time... and place..._

The fighting was intensive, as one would expect. Blades clashed against each other furiously and without mercy.

Athos was the first one to gain an injury when Labarge's sword sliced across his left cheek. He felt the sting of it, shaking off the pain. With a quick look at the still unconscious d'Artagnan, Athos knew the lad had suffered much worse, and he wasn't about to let a simple cut slow him down.

"First blood to me, Musketeer!" Labarge jeered, attacking the soldier with swift and calculated strikes. He had to admit Athos fought well. Still the man needed to fight dirtier. Perhaps Labarge would be the one to teach him that lesson, before he killed the lieutenant that is.

Usually Athos performed better than this. His only excuse, he scolded himself, was the worry he dwelled upon for the pup. His eyes kept flicking toward where the young Gascon hung. Pulling himself away from the distraction, Athos focused once more on his over confident opponent. Perhaps he needed to apply some of Porthos' tricks that he had previously tried to teach d'Artagnan. Kicking up enough dirt that it flew into Labarge's face, Athos thrust his sword toward the outlaw's unprotected throat but the batard easily side stepped the attack. When his adversary feinted to the left, for some reason Athos' reaction time was sluggish. The results weren't pretty. His right leg was nearly sliced open, from the force of the other man's blade.

"Here I thought you were supposed to be the finest swordsman in all of France," Labarge scoffed. "I've had better matches with Charles whenever I goaded the kid into trying to get the better of me."

Swiping at the sweat that blurred his vision, Athos realized he was now handicapped from that last strike. Somehow he'd have to compensate for it. He took advantage of the fact Labarge was now turned away from him bowing to his audience, consisting of fellow gang members, while they clapped for the rogue. With Labarge still engrossed in receiving his laurels, Athos took him by surprise. Lunging forward, with a powerful thrust toward his adversary's back, his blade entered Labarge's upper right shoulder. Taking satisfaction in the fact the other man was no longer laughing at him, Athos listened when the batard roared with rage and pain. Now that Athos finally regained his momentum, he had his head back in the game.

++++

"Ya seein' what I'm seein'?" Porthos nodded toward where he could tell the signs of a hastily laid trap was waiting for them. 

"Bear trap." Aramis quietly whistled between his teeth. "Nasty business if you're the unfortunate soul to walk into one."

"Pretty clumsy attempt at hidin' it," Porthos grunted. Leaves were scattered on top of it but you could still make out what it was.

"What do you expect from dim-witted cut-purses?" Noting the rustling of some brush near the trap, Aramis tapped his friend on the shoulder. "They're waiting for us to be stupid enough to trip it."

"There's probably more than just one trap waitin' for us." Casting his dark eyes around the area, Porthos eventually spotted the other one.

Following his brother's gaze, Aramis noted it as well. A smirk hovered about his mouth, when he turned toward the darker-skinned man. Chuckling he said, "I've got an idea."

++++

"How long we gonna wait here?" Exchanging frustrated looks with the other men, Gerard grew impatient.

Casually leaning against the tree that was located directly behind the criminals, Aramis' sword was drawn in one hand while his pistol was in the other. "Oh not long at all, Monsieur. I guarantee it."

"Merde!" When Gerard went to reach for his own sword it was kicked out of reach by the Musketeer.

"This is the part I love best." Grinning, Aramis brandished his blade at the cut-purse. "Surrender or die!"

Unarmed Gerard, coward that he was, left Laroche and Tomas to fend for themselves. Quickly turning around he ran for the hills, completely forgetting about the trap he helped lay.

Frozen to the spot, faced with the amused Musketeer, Tomas and Laroche didn't know what to do. When they heard sounds of terrible screaming from Gerard, it didn't take them long to realize that the man had fallen into the bear trap.

Tipping his chapeau back from his head, Aramis smiled at the remaining outlaws. "What should I do with you both, eh?" He scratched at his beard, while pondering his predicament. "Tis a problem I will admit."

Not going to give the cocky Musketeer a chance to figure it out, both men bolted. Running past where Gerard was desperately trying to pry the sharp teeth of the trap from his ruined ankle, neither one of them stopped to help. Like their comrade, in their mad dash to get away both Tomas and Laroche also had forgotten  where the other trap was set. Seeing the large figure of another Musketeer blocking their only chance of escape, they backtracked veering off to the left. That's when their stumbling feet triggered the hidden net. Next thing the crooks understood was that they were dangling high above the ground, staring down into two pairs of eyes dancing with amusement.

"I believe our work here is done, mon frere." Slapping Porthos on the back, Aramis sauntered off.

"Yeah," Porthos agreed. "Time ta see 'ow Athos is doin'." Following his friend, he made his way past the other outlaw caught in the bear trap. When the injured man made a grab for Porthos' leg, he had to shake off the cut-purse's hand.

"I need help!" Gerard cried pitifully. "Have mercy!"

"Mercy?" Stunned to hear such a word coming out of that piece of trash's mouth, Porthos couldn't believe the gall of it. "Like ya would 'ave shown us?" he growled. "Yeah... right." Turning his back on the outlaw, Porthos kept on walking.

"You've got a hard heart, mon ami." The healer half of Aramis disliked leaving the rogue to his fate. Still the soldier part readily agreed with Porthos. For now they had more matters of import left to deal with.

++++

Even though Athos had dealt a serious injury to his opponent, Labarge was still a force to reckon with. Following up his parry, he made a slight miscalculation which resulted in what happened next. Feeling his adversary's sword slice through Athos' doublet, it penetrated his right side. Lady Luck must have smiled down upon him today, because he felt that his leathers kept the wound he sustained from being serious. Still there was no getting around that it burned like the very devil. Not to be outdone by the outlaw, Athos fought through the pain and delivered a mighty blow of his own. Disengaging, it appeared he was aiming for Labarge's chest. But swiftly Athos moved the point of his blade down in a semi-circle, dancing off to the side. Managing to get behind Labarge, Athos sword found its mark in the rogue's lower backside.

Not expecting such a clever maneuver, shock overtook Labarge as he fell to his knees. The ground was already saturated with the blood of both men. Now it seemed he would be adding more to it.

Suddenly Labarge's men, that were enjoying the show up until this moment, were deathly silent upon seeing their boss go down. Some of them started forward, to intervene on their leader's behalf, but sounds of pistols cocking from behind them froze them in their tracks.

"Play it smart, boyos," Porthos grinned. "Or not. Don't mean much either way ta me." Seeing Aramis shaking his head at him to get on with it, Porthos shrugged. "Nice and easy like." Using his musket, he indicated for the group to tighten up and move closer together. Lending Aramis a hand they both took long coils of rope and wrapped it tightly several times around the entire gang.

"Athos is bleeding." Eyes narrowed, Aramis made mental notes of each wound on his brother that he could see. Hoping he had enough medical supplies with him, Aramis hadn't caught sight of d'Artagnan yet. It was a foregone conclusion that their young Gascon would need tending. If he and Porthos remained injury free, Aramis might just be able to make his supplies stretch.

"Where ain't 'e bleedin's the question?" Wanting to jump in between them, Porthos knew it wasn't his fight and Athos wouldn't appreciate the help.

With Labarge on the ground, weakened and losing blood fast, Athos stood in front of the batard swaying slightly from his own many injuries. Using the point of his sword he placed it underneath the cut-purse's chin, tipping it up toward Athos. "Enjoy the last breath you'll ever take in this life." Voice deep, low and steady, belied his true feelings. It felt like Athos' heart was beating out of his chest. He would end this farce once and for all. "Tis a shame the lad won't be able to see you come to an end." His sword ripped open the tattered remains of Labarge's, once white, shirt clear to the waist. "But it will later make for an interesting tale to share over a fine vintage of wine." With a signature flourish Athos spun in a circle, sword swinging through the air, to then plunge into Labarge's dark heart. Though, whether or not the outlaw had a heart was still up for debate.

Stunned eyes locked onto the satisfied blue ones of the Musketeer before him. It was the very last thing Labarge ever saw. Sword dropping to the ground, from a lifeless hand, he fell face first into the bloodied dirt.

"That's one scumbag that won't be mourned." Kicking out at the dead body with the tip of his boot, Porthos rolled Labarge onto his back. When Aramis knelt down beside the deceased, Porthos grabbed his brother by the arm to drag him up. "Ya nuts! Why'd ya want ta pray over the likes of 'im?"

Shaking off his brother's arm, Aramis fell to his knees again. Making the sign of the cross he murmured a quiet prayer. Standing back up he was upset when his gaze settled on Porthos. "Never come between myself and God ever again!"

"I was tryin' ta come between Labarge and God!" Not understanding his pious friend at times Porthos' attention was then caught when Athos staggered toward them.

" _THE BOY!_ " Athos yelled, pointing to beyond the trees where d'Artagnan was tied. "He's in a bad way!"

"As you are, mon frere," Aramis snapped. He wanted to first give aid to Athos but, at his lieutenant's words, went straight over to where their youngest was. When Aramis' eyes did a quick once over of d'Artagnan's wounds, he swore violently. "Merde! Fils de pute!" Throwing his chapeau on the ground, Aramis glared at the corpse. "If Athos hadn't already ended your existence then I would have been next in line!"

Noting Porthos was busy guiding Athos to sit down on a boulder, Aramis got his temper back under control. Using his poignard, he cut through the thick ropes that kept d'Artagnan upright. When the pup fell Aramis caught the boy in his arms, easing the lad to the ground. There were so many obvious injuries to tend, he didn't know where to begin. " _PORTHOS!_ " he hollered out. "I need all my supplies and some blankets! Hurry!"

The child's flesh was so very cold, as if d'Artagnan's body had been dragged from the Seine. The Gascon's face alone felt like a block of ice, when Aramis brushed his fingertips over the youngster's cheek to try and wake the Gascon up. "Your face is a mess of cuts, lad. But I'll make sure there won't be any lasting scars." Aramis smiled to himself. "I don't mind the competition you see." Wincing at the one eye that was swollen shut, he prayed the boy's vision wouldn't be compromised.

Carefully feeling his way around d'Artagnan's abused abdomen, Aramis felt several ribs give way. Knowing they were definitely broken he was relieved when discovering a few more were only cracked. What concerned him most was the internal trauma that the boy may have suffered from d'Artagnan's beating. There was a good possibility of bleeding going on. When he caught sight of the deep bruising near the child's liver, Aramis pulled a face. They would have to make for Paris as soon as possible, for if surgery was required his skills would be woefully inadequate.

If it weren't bad enough, Aramis had other things just as concerning to worry upon. When he had prevented d'Artagnan from falling, his hand came away bloodied. Glancing at the Gascon's lacerated back, he nearly threw up. So, when Porthos came back, he had his comrade lay the blankets on the ground and then both of them carefully placed the lad on his stomach.

"Mon Dieu!" Shredded, the whelp's back was criss-crossed with stripes. "Ain't no way the kid won't be scarred." Biting his lip until it bled, Porthos looked ill.

"I'm not concerned about scars at this point." Digging through his medical bag, Aramis pulled out the bottle of alcohol he was looking for. Running his hand tenderly through d'Artagnan's hair, he said a silent prayer. "Tis going to hurt me more than you."


	11. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yup! The end of the road for this one, gang.  
> But I have had a request to do another story from something I mentioned during another of my stories. You’ll have to wait until I work on it to see what it is. Anyway I hope you like the way I wrapped this one up.
> 
> ++++

_We left off with Aramis examining a badly injured d’Artagnan_

“Porthos, if you would, look after our illustrious leader while I tend to our young friend here first.” Lips tightening, Aramis poured a goodly portion of alcohol onto a clean cloth. As soon as it touched the lacerated flesh, the boy’s back arched and the child let out a piercing scream. Grimacing at the sound, he continued on with his task.

“ _MON DIEU, ARAMIS!_ ” Fighting off Porthos’ strong hands, Athos tried to make his way over to the child but his larger brother prevented him from doing so. “ _ARE YOU TRYING TO FINISH WHAT LABARGE STARTED?_ " he shouted at his brother.

Angry at Athos’ words, Aramis ignored him as he carried on cleaning the Gascon’s back. There were already signs of infection in some of the more deeper lacerations and he wanted to prevent them from worsening. He tried to be quick about it, as Aramis didn’t want to keep d’Artagnan on his stomach overlong.

Soothing the boy by running one of his hands through the young Gascon’s long hair, Aramis continued treating d’Artagnan’s lash marks with his other. The pup had quieted down or perhaps had passed out, the latter being the most likely prospect. Either way it made Aramis’ job easier to deal with.

Doing what he could for the pup's shredded back, Aramis needed help in sitting d'Artagnan up so he could wrap the lad's ribs. "Porthos, do you believe Athos will stay put because I need your help here?"

Glaring at Athos, Porthos stood in front of the man staring him down. "Ya gonna sit nice and peaceful like?" When Athos glowered at him but nodded his head in affirmation, Porthos went to help Aramis with the whelp. "What cha' need for me ta do?"

"Get d'Artagnan into an upright position so that I can take care of his ribs." Once Porthos had done that, Aramis went to work. Finished he needed to tackle the numerous cuts on the child's face. Rummaging through his medical bag for the supplies he needed to stitch up the more worrisome cuts, Aramis hands were steady for he didn't want the young Gascon to scar. The other smaller cuts would heal well on their own, without concern of marring the olive-toned skin.

"All right, Porthos, now let's get our young one onto his uninjured side." Worry creased his forehead upon noting the discolored skin near the lad’s liver had darkened further. It made Aramis even more concerned than ever that the trauma, from the severe beating the lad had endured, could have caused internal bleeding.

“Kid gonna make it, Mis?” The gravity of the situation had not gone unnoticed by Porthos. Not only was the whelp badly hurt but Athos wasn’t in the best of shape either.

Staring into the caring eyes of his friend, Aramis' words threatened to choke him. "I don't know."

" _WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DO NOT KNOW!_ " roared Athos, who was trying his best to make his way over to where his protégé laid. But once again Porthos rushed over stopping him. "For such a large man you are relatively light on your feet and quite fast, mon frere." Especially when Athos didn't want Porthos to be, such as in this case.

" _JUST WHAT I SAID!_ " Losing his professionalism, Aramis yelled back. "D'Artagnan's running a fever and I'm concerned over that bruising." Running both of his now shaking hands through his hair, Aramis breathed in deeply trying to calm himself down. "The lad needs to be examined by a real doctor to determine if d'Artagnan is bleeding internally from his physical assault."

"Watch him for me, Porthos, while I tend to _Mount Athos_ over there." With Porthos chuckling at the nickname Aramis dubbed their friend with, he walked over with his medical bag. "Making short work of the cut to Athos' left cheek Aramis teased his brother. "You'll be handsome as ever. Won't even leave a scar." Grinning at the sour look sent his way, he just had to go that extra mile. "You'll have all the ladies swooning at your feet." Levity was Aramis way of dealing with high anxiety. Unfortunately he picked the wrong person to try it with.

"Tis generally your department," Athos countered, sniffing in disdain at the marksman's attempts at distracting him. He didn't feel this was the proper time nor place. He was well versed in how Aramis worked when the man went into medic mode. Usually his brother's humor was meant to distract his patients. Right now Athos did not want to forget what his protégé was enduring.

"As I told our unconscious young pup I do not mind competition." Glancing at the long, ugly gash cut into Athos' lower right leg, Aramis lips pursed. "This, mon ami, will need stitched."

"So I surmised." Rolling his eyes, Athos was growing impatient. "Just get it done so we can all get back to Paris and have d'Artagnan seen to."

"Agreed." As Aramis began his eyes drifted to Athos' torn doublet noting a hint of red appearing on his eldest brother's shirt. He could tell it wasn't anything serious, but Aramis would still want that minor wound treated with alcohol just in case. "Later you and d'Artagnan could compare injuries." Smiling at the unintelligible sounds that erupted from Athos, Aramis went about the business of stitching the gash.

Completing his tasks, Aramis stood back up. "I'm going to get Porthos to ready the wagon to take you and d'Artagnan home in." Slapping another clean cloth into Athos' hands Aramis gave him the bottle of alcohol. "Tend to your side while I check on our Gascon."

"What wagon?" Pouring a small amount of alcohol on the cloth, Athos swore loudly when it touched his skin. " _MERDE!_ "

"Ever the worst patient, Athos," Aramis grinned, ducking as his brother threw the saturated cloth back at him. "Now as to the wagon in question it belongs to Labarge's gang." Pointing over to where the wagon was partially hidden behind some bushes, Aramis strode back over to kneel by the boy's side.

"I 'eard what ya said, Mis," Porthos got back up. "I'll get the wagon ready. But that bunch over there's gonna slow us down," he grunted, with a look that didn't bode well for the cut-purses they had trussed up.

"That small village we passed through earlier just might have a jail." Or at least Aramis prayed it was so. He really wanted d'Artagnan to have a physician's care, sooner rather than later. "Then once we're back at the Garrison Captain Treville could send a squad back to retrieve them." Observing Porthos head for the wagon, Aramis kept watch over d'Artagnan. Pulling out his rosaries he began fingering the beads.

++++

About twenty minutes later found them all back on the road again. As it turned out the inseparables were in luck. The authorities were only too happy to take Labarge's band off their hands. Since the village wasn't that far from Paris, they knew it wouldn't take very long for their captain to have a unit of Musketeers here to take the cut-purses into custody. Now without the burden of their prisoners, they made good time back to the Garrison.

++++

_Two days later - Garrison infirmary_

"Doc kick ya out?" Joining Captain Treville on the steps, leading up to the infirmary, Porthos sat down beside him.

"In a manner of speaking." Sighing, Treville's head hung down.

"What 'e say about our whelp?"

"Devereaux believes there had been some internal bleeding but tis possible it may stop on its own." Blue eyes showing his concern, Treville glanced at Porthos' drawn features. "He'll keep the lad under observation."

"There's somethin' else," Porthos said. "I can see it in your eyes."

"The doctor said that in cases of internal bleeding it could damage the body from the loss of blood and from the pressure the misplaced blood puts on other organs and tissues." Running a hand down his face, Treville began to feel his age.

"That's a mouthful." Frowning darkly, Porthos had known that this had been the reason for Aramis' urgency in getting the kid home.

"All we can do is pray." Standing up Treville grabbed the railing continuing on down the remaining steps. "At least Athos' injuries are less worrisome."

"Whelp's a tough one," Porthos offered. "Like ya told us before 'ow stubborn Gascon's could be." Hearing the captain snort, Porthos grinned.

"My thanks for reminding me of my own words." Slapping the bigger man on the back, Treville headed over to a new pair of recruits that were badly in need of help with their blade work.

++++

_Seven days later - infirmary_

"I believe d'Artagnan won't be needing surgery, gentlemen." Kind, dark eyes skimmed over Athos' worn face, who rested in the bed next to the boy. Then they touched upon Aramis, who was stuck like glue to the youngster's side. Knowing this was what true brotherhood was all about, Devereaux felt proud to be in their company.

"Aramis had stressed his very real concern over the lad's injuries." Relieved but bewildered, Athos didn't quite believe the doctor's prognosis.

"As he should have been." Devereaux acknowledged the marksman with a dip of his head. "Blunt trauma isn't to be taken lightly. Blood vessels inside the body could become torn or crushed either by shear force or a blunt object." Walking back over to d'Artagnan's bed, Devereaux checked the younger man's fever again. "In the boy's case it was from the horrific beating he'd undergone by those brutes."

"The doctor here told me it was a good sign that our youngest wasn't showing signs of having abdominal pain or swelling," Aramis further explained. "Even the bruising is starting to fade away."

"Our Gascon's fever is going down as well," Devereaux offered the still worried lieutenant.

"What about the pup's back?" Since being here d'Artagnan had only been lucid a handful of times. Was that a good sign too? Athos wasn't convinced.

"Aramis did an excellent job of treating those whip marks." Having piled a mound of pillows behind d'Artagnan, so the lad wouldn't attempt to lay on his backside, the Gascon was currently resting on his uninjured side. "They will of course take longer to heal and sadly leave lasting scars."

"I don't care about d'Artagnan's scars as long as our youngest lives." Wincing, Athos tried to get out of bed.

"I wouldn't advise doing that." Glaring at the Musketeer, Devereaux shook a warning finger at the man. Frustrated with Athos' stubborness he threw both hands up in the air, turning his back on him. Athos would do as he damn well pleased no matter what Devereaux ordered.

Helping his friend up Aramis guided Athos over to a chair by the Gascon's bedside. With a hand on the older man's shoulder he gave it a gentle squeeze. "Go on talk to the child. He'll hear you."

After Aramis left him, Athos placed a hand on d'Artagnan's head. Fingers gently tangled in the boy's fine hair. "Remember that time Porthos won at cards and shared his wealth with you?" Not expecting an answer yet, Athos continued. "When I turned it down it was because I had no need of his money. At the time it hadn't escaped my notice that you appeared puzzled by that."

Keeping his fingers busy Athos stroked his protégé's forehead. "A long time ago I was known as the Comte de la Fere. A titled gentleman with a large estate and money to go along with it." Noting the lad's eyes beginning to flutter, Athos hoped it meant that d'Artagnan was near to waking. "For reasons I do not want to get into I'll give you the short version."

"If the long... version... is... juicier," slowly blinking his eyes open, d'Artagnan focused them on his mentor, "I'd rather hear... that part."

"Impudent puppy." Very pleased to see the youngster awake and hear d'Artagnan's cheekiness once more, Athos sent his protégé a silly grin. "Suffice it to say I do have sufficient monies to draw from when I or my brothers are in need."

"Ummm," d'Artagnan licked his dry lips, "I wanted... the juicier version, Athos." Forgetting that he had to stay on his side d'Artagnan tried to turn onto his back, knocking the pillows to the floor in the process. Nearly jumping out of bed from the pain it caused him, d'Artagnan felt Athos' restraining hands on his shoulders keeping him anchored.

"Breathe through the pain, child." It hurt Athos to hear the lad panting in that manner. Stroking the boy's sweaty bangs away from d'Artagnan's forehead, he listened as the Gascon's breaths eventually evened out.

"I forgot what... the doctor... told me last time... I was awake." Laying carefully back onto his good side again, d'Artagnan faced his mentor. Pouting, he reached out a hand to clasp the one stroking his brow. "Tell me." He gave Athos a weary smile. "Consider... it an early... bedtime story."

Sitting back in his chair, making himself as comfortable as his wounds would allow, Athos couldn't explain away the desire he felt to tell this boy his darkest secrets. Perhaps unburdening himself in this manner would lighten his soul. Knowing if he divulged his past sins to d'Artagnan it would only be right that he tell Aramis and Porthos as well.

Staring into those soulful brown eyes, Athos couldn't turn the boy's request down. With the arch of one brow he tilted his head to the side. "Bedtime story, eh?" Chuckling softly, Athos gripped the lad's hand tightly. "Once upon a time there was this handsome comte..."

" _Handsome?_ " Laughing brown eyes joyfully teased the older man. Settling his head more comfortably on the pillow, d'Artagnan waited for his mentor to retaliate.

"Who is telling this story, pup?" Athos gruffly barked.

"You are." Grinning impishly, d'Artagnan listened with rapt attention as Athos' story unfolded. When his brother's tale ended, d'Artagnan was completely lost for words. The heartbreak Athos had endured was nearly as bad as when he had lost his own parents to Labarge's insanity. Wanting to lighten the suddenly quiet atmosphere, d'Artagnan teased his friend again. "Does that mean that if I'm ever short of funds I may rely upon you when I'm in need?"

"I think I just did myself a disservice in telling you about my past," Athos dryly remarked though his blue eyes twinkled merrily. Grimacing as a twinge of pain lanced through his leg, he shakily stood back up. "I believe I shall seek my bed again."

"Athos," d'Artaganan called out softly, waiting until his mentor crawled into his own bed. "Merci, for my story."

"Rest well, child." Getting under the covers Athos pulled them up to his chin, closing his eyes as sleep claimed him.

His thoughts in a whirl over what he had just learned, d'Artagnan felt privileged that Athos had trusted him enough to let him see that side of his brother. Finding out that Captain Treville was the only other person who knew the truth humbled d'Artagnan. For that meant he was the second to learn Athos' secrets.

With a determination that fired his soul d'Artagnan silently vowed that from here on out he would learn all that he could... do all that was expected of him... to become the man, and eventually the Musketeer, Athos knew d'Artagnan could be.

The End


End file.
